


Scientific Methods: A/B Tests

by radishface



Series: Scientific Methods [2]
Category: JBJ (Band), K-pop, NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dialogue Heavy, Drabble, Drama Llama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Philosophy, Seriously there is a lot of angst here, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-04 18:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12776520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radishface/pseuds/radishface
Summary: What does it look from the outside like when a young, brilliant, and hungry soul tries to control how he is perceived? People end up finding things out anyway. Especially if it includes crushing on older men and stealing steamy moments in the stairwells.A story in which everyone knows that Lee Daehwi got involved in something he should have avoided, and Lee Daehwi begins to realize what the true price of fame is.Complete.





	1. The Meaning of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Somi and Daehwi discuss crushes. And the nature of reality.

  
“Seriously? There’s _nobody_ you like there? I’m watching the show right now, and I’m like… I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

 

It’s not that Daehwi doesn't like anyone. There’s plenty of really hot guys, duh. It’s show business. “It’s not that, Somi. There just doesn’t seem to be anyone who’s really my type.”

 

“What about that Kang guy?” Somi’s face scrunches up over FaceTime in that adorable way when she’s confused.

 

“Daniel?” Daehwi interjects quickly. “Daniel’s cute, sure. But he’s totally straight. And when he’s not busy being straight, he’s got Seongwoo wrapped around his pinky.”

 

“Not that one. The one you were surprised by. In the GIF.”

 

Not this again. “Don’t say it!”

 

“Kang Dongho,” Somi giggles. “I don’t know, Daehwi. Maybe you have a type. Maybe you like alphas. It wouldn’t be too far from your last crush, by the way. And I don’t think Dongho is as scary as he seems. He’s just _mature_. He probably knows what he wants.” Somi purrs playfully.

 

“The _point is_ —” Daehwi is grinding his teeth now, “it doesn’t really matter if I actually am attracted to someone here. It’s like the military.”

 

“But you’ve never been in the military. Yet.”

 

“I’ve heard enough stories, girl.”

  

“So it’s like the military. What does that mean? Is it like, don’t ask, don’t tell? Do people bone all the time and cover it up?”

 

Nope. As much as that’d be fun to gossip about, it’s totally not the case.

 

Daehwi wonders how it is when girls are all together. Do they sleep together too? It’s not like he can outright ask Somi if she’s been with another girl. Or maybe he can.

 

“Somi, have you been with other girls before?”

 

“What!” A burst of laughter, followed by a nervous giggle. “What?”

 

“No, seriously. I’m not judging, by the way. Obviously.”

 

“Well.” Somi’s voice goes quiet. “I mean. Okay. A kiss. Once. During the show. It’s not like it didn’t happen with others, either, especially since we were all together _all_ the time. But it doesn’t mean—I don’t think it means—that I’m gay. Like, I’m attracted to guys. I want to get married to a guy. But… oh!”

 

She looks away from the camera, suddenly embarrassed. “Okay. I guess I see what you mean about the military thing now.”

 

Daehwi feels his smile turn a bit sad. “It’s like the military in that—you just don’t have a choice. So either you take what matches up with what preference you might have normally. That’s why I think—that’s why I think Dongho looks at me that way.” His throat feels dry. His throat always feels a little dry when he thinks about this. “And obviously—obviously he’s probably the most masculine person around here. So me and him will naturally sort of… have that kind of chemistry. But it doesn’t mean that back out in the real world, it’s like that. So what happens here isn’t really real.”

 

The line goes quiet. Somi’s lips are pursed—she’s thinking her way through. “It’s a small, messed up world we chose to live in. I don’t think we get to go back out if we make it.”

 

“You think?”

 

Somi’s silent. She knows. She’s on the other side.

 

“In this crazy little world of ours, there are a few moments of reality every now and then.”

 

“Like this.”

 

“Yeah, like this.” But as he says it, I’m suddenly filled with a sense of dread. Like, what if this is fictional? What if I’m actually the character in someone else’s novel?

 

“Do you know,” Somi murmurs, as if sensing his unease, “much about black holes? The ones in space?”

 

“Yes,” Daehwi sticks out his tongue, “but do _you_ know about black holes in space?”

 

“So,” Somi says quickly, excitedly, ignoring Daehwi's barb, “there are some scientists that think, that—like, maybe we’re just living in a projection of something else. Like, maybe all that we’re living is just a hologram, and the real information is encoded on a hard drive that lives on the surface of a black hole.”

 

“I thought black holes sucked everything in.” An image of Dongho comes to mind. He’s gripping the mic stand in _Playing With Fire._ It all went better than Daehwi thought it would. _Okay, shake it off. Somi is giving you a science lecture._

 

“So if everything is always falling, forever, then it’s spread out all across the inside of the black hole. Like peanut butter spread all over a funnel. Like peanut butter that’s only one atom thick spread all over the biggest funnel you can imagine.”

 

A notification from Kakao pops up atop Daehwi's phone. Friendly reminder from your “Never” team leader: _Practice in 30 minutes. See you in the studio!_

 

“So in a black hole, you have worlds and worlds of information just stored on the inside surface of the black hole. So imagine that there’s a computer at the center of the black hole—or even better, that the black hole itself is a computer that can “play back” the memory of everything it ever ate up. Like, maybe our Milky Way is actually just the projection of some content that’s encoded onto a supermassive black hole at the other end of the universe.”

 

It’s really sad to think that the Milky Way up in the sky might only be as real as a poster of it in a high school science class. Daehwi can feel a wail spilling out of him, and Somi laughs. “Somi, girl, you know I love you—but where are you going with this?”

 

“So if our galaxy is just a hologram—I know it sounds depressing, but it’s actually not—then what does it matter what other people say about you? Netizens can be sharks. And I’ve seen what they’re saying about you. It sucks. But you can’t let it get to you.”

 

Daehwi can feel the tears coming. Of all the things he’d expected, he never thought he’d feel like he didn’t even know himself.

 

Somi’s voice is soothing. She can see that Daehwi is upset. “Let’s say life is a high-fidelity projection at the end of the universe. Then what have you got to lose by living your life the way you want to? That’s the way I think about it now. Yeah, I might have chosen to walk this road and it sucks sometimes. But maybe I’m just acting out what was already there. Or maybe this really is all real and happening now, and I’m totally responsible for everything I do. I think both realities are scary, and both realities are true. And that real reality is somewhere between the two.”

 

Daehwi almost sees what she means.

 

“So—like, I guess this is all just a really long way of saying, you can just be yourself. And you can like whomever you like. Don’t worry too much about whether it’s real or not because—you’re not going to know anything about how real it is just because you think about it a lot.”

 

Looking at Somi’s earnest expression, Daehwi thinks maybe he’s been overthinking everything. Over-playing the meta game. Too focused on the results. “Where do you get all this?”

 

“I spent months and months angsting about what my life was during Season One. This whole thing is like the Hunger Games mashed up with American Idol with America’s Next Top Model thrown in. Now you’re here too, and I’m excited for you, but I don’t want you to die of angst.”

 

“But where’d you learn this stuff about black holes?”

 

“This channel on YouTube. I watch it whenever I have trouble falling asleep.”

 

“Well,” Daehwi feels a smile emerging. “Thank you for the lesson, Professor Jeon.”

 

“Well, you’re welcome, student Lee.”

 

“But—I’m no closer to learning about who you made out with in Season One.”

 

Somi sticks out her tongue. “How about I’ll tell you who I kissed when you kiss Kang Dongho.”

 

“Never.”

 

“Kang Daniel, then.”

 

“…slightly more likely.” Daniel would probably not punch Daehwi's lights out if Daehwi kissed him. He’d be more likely to laugh it off. Actually, Daehwi isn’t sure which type of rejection would hurt more.

 

“I’ll let you go.” Somi’s voice is soft and fond. “I know you have practice soon.”

 

Somi has great timing—a calendar reminder for dance practice comes up on Daehwi’s phone. He sits up and stretches. “Same time next week?”

 

“Yep. Love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

 


	2. The Ear and the Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A leader's job is to listen well.

 

 

Even a team leader needs a break every once in a while, so Jisung calls it. “Break time,” he calls out to the others on the _Downpour_ team. Hyunbin looks especially relieved. “Meet back here in 30 minutes.”

 

Jisung ducks into the first empty practice room. It’s dark inside, so he doesn’t think anyone is there, but there is someone.

 

“Excuse me,” Jisung says to a black bowl cut which is huddled on the ground. The black bowl cut sits on top of two knobby knees. He’s about to turn around and leave when he realizes it’s Lee Daehwi. Lee Daehwi disappearing from practice will never be as much a concern as a lower-ranked trainee disappearing, because Daehwi delivers.

 

This thought gives him pause. “Daehwi. Are you okay?”

 

Daehwi looks up and in the dark you can see the flash of a smile and very neat, white teeth. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

 

“Ah,” Jisung says. And he’s not sure what to say. He’s the hyung here, so something hyung-like or leader-like would do. But nothing comes to mind. A cool, detached hyung-like response eludes him because that’s not what is called for right now.

 

Daehwi has been crying. So Jisung takes a seat next to him.

 

After a while, Daehwi relaxes. The tension goes out of him and he sighs. He leans against Jisung’s shoulder and Jisung can hear how wet his breath is. Daehwi has been crying, and he doesn’t like to show others, and that’s why he’s here. Jisung feels honored and humbled to be here right now.

 

“Is it what the netizens are saying?” Jisung ventures. Since Daehwi’s rise to center, it’s a known fact how much hate he’s been getting online. Jisung hasn’t seen anything specifically since he doesn’t like seeking these things out, but he can imagine. Sometimes, it’s good to rise to the top slower and steadier. People are suspicious of others who are too successful, too quickly.

 

(Well, that’s something he’s hoping is true in his own case. He’s been waiting for seven years.)

 

“Actually,” Daehwi’s breath hitches, and then he goes silent again.

 

Jisung waits.

 

“It’s—”

 

Jisung waits some more, and this time, puts an arm around Daehwi’s shoulders. 

 

“I’m just so tired,” Daehwi repeats sullenly. “And yeah. Today, it might be the netizens, but tomorrow, it might be something else. It just doesn’t stop.”

 

No, Jisung thinks, it doesn’t. “I don’t know if this will make you feel better. But sometimes the pressure is what’s in your own head, too. That’s the only thing you can control. Is how much of it you feel.”

 

Daehwi laughs bitterly. “Sure.”

 

Jisung is older than Daehwi by almost ten years. He tries to remember what it was like when he was seventeen. Actually, there wasn’t much that he felt in control over. He felt like he could work hard, but his feelings were always their own beast. “Hyung spoke too brashly,” he says by way of an apology. “When I was your age, I was in even less control of myself than you are. You’re doing very well, Daehwi.”

 

Daehwi ducks his head back between his knees and holds his legs tightly, body shaking. Jisung is caught off guard, but not entirely surprised. He pulls Daehwi in for a hug, and Daehwi bursts out into sobs. 

 

“You’ll always feel what you feel,” Jisung whispers into Daehwi’s ear. “That’s okay. It’s okay to feel those feelings. At seventeen, it’s hard to know what’s a feeling from within you, and what’s something that’s a reaction to others. But if you focus on the feeling that comes from within you, that will lead you down a good road.”

 

This only makes Daehwi cry harder, and Jisung holds him in silence until the tears begin to subside. When he regains himself, his voice is muffled, almost sleepy-sounding. “How do you know what's inside versus outside?”

 

Jisung thinks for a moment. “Well, it's probably different for each person. For me, if I hear something from other people that makes me feel bad, I can feel my skin crawling. I used to let the words of others deep into my heart because I thought what they were saying was true. But after all these years, this hyung has realized something. Just because other people say something about you, doesn’t mean that it’s right. Especially if it comes from people who don’t know you at all.

 

“If you are feeling a real feeling—it begins at the center of your chest. You can either feel it as an emptiness, which hurts, or as a blossoming, which also hurts. Both feelings are beautiful, if you sit with them for long enough. And over time, you realize that they are the same.”

 

It sounds so easy. Daehwi is a decade younger than Jisung and infinitely more talented, but for his talents, probably suffers even more. Jisung wishes that he could download his life experience into Daehwi's head and save him some of that pain. But if there's another thing he's learned, it's that everyone has to go their own way to find what's right for them. This is the first time he's having such a close conversation with Daehwi, so he's not sure if his words mean anything. All he can do is listen.

 

“I read this thing online the other day," Daehwi says slowly.“‘Where do our traumas end and our personalities begin?’It made me really sad, for some reason.”

 

“Sounds like a verse in a song,” Jisung muses.  

 

“But still too deep for whatever this industry wants,” Daehwi sneers, then hiccups. Jisung laughs.

 

“You're not far off. That's the sacrifice and the consolation prize. Sometimes it feels like you're pushing yourself away to gain riches or fame. But always remember the initial passion that led you to be here in the first place. The true feeling, instead of the one imposed on you. That'll keep you sane even when you make it big.”

 

Jisung hadn't understood that for a long time. There were three or four years, on and off, during his training that he forgot what it was that brought him here. These days, he stays in the game not for the fame, not for the money. There are certainly benefits to both. He stays because this is the world he knows, and there are people who depend on him. He stays for his friends and his colleagues, to keep their spirits high more than anything. 

 

“How did you find yourself here?” Daehwi's question is without malice. 

 

“I liked making people laugh,” Jisung answers without hesitation.“We didn't have a lot growing up. Definitely no television. So we made each other laugh, instead. And you?”

 

Daehwi's voice is small. “I don't know. I haven't thought about it much.”

 

“What about when you make it big?” Jisung squeezes Daehwi's shoulder, and feels him laugh.

 

“That's easy. I’ll buy my mom a house,” Daehwi says. “One in LA, and one in Seoul. Business class flights back and forth. I’ll take her to Goa. She’s always wanted to go to India.”

 

Jisung closes his eyes. It’s a lovely image, and roughly the same he wants for his family. To spend time together in beautiful locations. Not that he knows anything about Goa or India. “And for you, Daehwi? Where are _you_ when you’ve made it?”

 

“On a stage somewhere. Or maybe,” Daehwi’s voice falters. “Maybe behind the scenes. Depends on where I am in my career. I’d like to choreograph, and write and produce songs. Right now I’m—I’m not that good at writing raps. I think I’d need someone to help me there.”

 

“Woojinnie would be a good choice,” Jisung suggests, and this makes Daehwi laugh.

 

“He’s not exactly the most collaborative human being,” Daehwi giggles. “You don’t even see what he’s got in store until the moment he hits the stage.”

 

“He’s a bit of a mystery box, isn’t he,” Jisung says mournfully, and feels Daehwi nod enthusiastically against him.

 

In a way, they’re all mystery boxes. Wunderkinds, washed up, up-and-coming, next big things. Mama hens, kings, Jim Carreys, centers, and space cadets.

 

“You’re going to be fine, Lee Daehwi. There are some people who are front-of-house and some people who are back-of-house, but you, you’re going to be one of the rare ones who can be on both sides. Like our fine Representative Boa.”

 

Daehwi sniffs, “but she debuted at fifteen.” Even then, you can tell he’s moved.

 

“Fifteen, seventeen, twenty, twenty-seven, fifty-nine,” Jisung scoffs, “it doesn’t matter what age. Some people debut young and then find their success much later on. Some people never debut and go onto careers elsewhere and find happiness. If you try, you can find happiness anywhere you go, in any career path you take.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“Hey, hyung,” Daehwi says softly. His voice is almost a whisper. “What do you think—what do you think the members of Nu’est are?”

 

It’s a bit out of left field. “You mean, front-of-house or back-of-house?”

 

Daehwi nods.

 

“I think,” and actually, Jisung doesn’t need to think, he _knows_ , “Actually,” Jisung laughs, “most of Nu’est are front-of-house, except for Jonghyun. He’s the most responsible man in the world. He’ll be advertising for Korea National Insurance Corporation once he’s done with the show. Minki and Dongho are definitely performers, through and through. They don’t want to be anywhere in life but on stage.”

 

That gets a laugh out of Daehwi. “That’s so true.”

 

“How are things with your group?”

 

“Ah,” Daehwi wails, clawing at Jisung’s torso playfully. “Painful.”

 

“Too many cooks in the kitchen,” Jisung muses.

 

“Exactly,” Daehwi takes a deep breath. “For one, Sewoon isn’t leading us very well. For all his talk about wanting to be an entertainment company CEO. And Dongho is the oldest in our group, but he’s setting a terrible example for everyone.” The next few words come through Daehwi’s teeth. “He's greedy.”

 

It’s hard to imagine Sewoon being perturbed about anything, but working with a hothead alpha like Dongho would be very difficult for someone younger. Jisung tilts his head to one side, considering. “Dongho is used to being the dongsaeng, to be honest. If you look at his career, he’s always used to being the younger one. And within Nu’est, he’s always listened to Jonghyun. He’s used to being taken care of and managed by others.”

 

Daehwi huffs. “You’re telling me,” he mutters.

 

“Produce 101 is the first time Dongho has been the eldest in a group. But he rallied everyone together for _Boy in Luv_ , right? I’m sure he’ll pull through.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“How is Minki?”

 

“You’d think he’d say something to Dongho. And maybe he has. But I think Dongho will only listen to Jonghyun. Sometimes I just want to run into the _Fear_ room and drag Jonghyun out to—to make Dongho behave.”

 

“I’m sure everyone feels nervous. They all just want to do their best.”

 

“I wish our arrangement would just come together. And that Sewoon and Dongho would just get along. And that Dongho would just—” Daehwi sighs and buries his face in his hands again. “Ah, I don’t know.”

 

Jisung chooses his next words carefully. “You care a lot about him, don’t you.”

 

Daehwi tenses next to him. Okay. So maybe he didn’t choose his words so carefully. Jisung wants to back track, but he feels like there’s something here. So he waits.

 

The words grit out from Daehwi as if being pulled from a place deep and far beyond this world. “I care about everyone on the team.” 

 

Jisung waits.

 

“And. Of course I care about Dongho. I want him to do well. He wants to shine. And he deserves a chance to shine. There’s a lot more riding on this performance for his career. Sewoon will be fine with anything that happens. The sky could come crashing down tomorrow and Sewoon would be fine. But I wish Dongho would get it, too. It’s not just about him. It’s not just about being center for the sake of being center. Being center doesn’t help you as much as you think it might.”

 

Jisung can feel himself submerged in the thick of feeling as it fills practice room, palpable, tangible. This is why Daehwi is not just a good artist, but a great one. It’s also why he needs to careful, Jisung realizes.

 

“Being center is only one part of being here. It’s not everything. It’s not like you become the center of the entire universe. There’s a lot more to performing than being in the middle of the formation and having the camera on you all the time. It’s a lot more than being a kickass team that’s so much better than the others. But Dongho’s being greedy, and not listening to us, and I—I don’t want him to get hurt. Like me.”  

 

He trails off into an embarrassed silence. “You’re a good one, Lee Daehwi,” Jisung says softly.

 

They sit in companionable silence for a while, listening to the muffled sounds next door of the _Fear_ group practicing their parts. Every now and then, there’s a bubble of laughter, gone as quickly as it comes.  

 

“Your team will come through,” Jisung says, patting Daehwi’s shoulder. “Teams always do.” With impeccable timing, there’s a knock on the door. “Like now.”

 

Daehwi looks up quickly. Even in the dim light, Jisung can see his eyes light up.

 

Minki saunters into the practice room and collapses on the floor, arms encircling Daehwi’s torso before his hands come up to tickle him. Daehwi erupts in a peal of laughter and Jisung extracts himself as quickly as possible and scampers to the back of the practice room before Minki’s fingers can find their way to his armpits. Within seconds, Minki and Daehwi are a writhing, undignified, squealing mess on the floor as Minki crows down at him, _who’s yo’ daddy? Who’s yo daddy??_

 

“Ah, Minki,” Dongho’s voice peeps around from just outside, sounding embarrassed. “Stop harassing the kid. Let’s just go back to practice.”

 

“This party requires no chaperones,” Minki huffs, jumping up. “If you’re not going to participate, then you can go back to Team No Fun.”

 

“You all right there, Daehwi?” Dongho calls out.

 

“Come join the party,” Daehwi calls back, out of breath. It sounds a little sexy, even. Jisung can feel his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. _Oh_.

 

It’s not entirely unexpected. But it is something to be careful with. Jisung stands up and claps his hands. “Attention, friends! I propose that we move the parties back into their respective rooms. So that we can continue the party at another time.”

 

The group disperses, but not before Jisung pulls Daehwi into a tight hug and tells him to behave. Dongho's laugh is almost mean, and Jisung shoots him a glare from under his bangs. 

 

Back in the _Downpour_ practice room, Minhyun and Sungwoon are walking through the minimal choreography on one side of the room. Jaehwan comes in right before the thirty-minute break ends, and Hyunbin joins them one minute after, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

 

“Did you have a good nap, Hyunbinnie?” Minhyun calls out, not unkindly. Hyunbin murmurs something unintelligible.

 

“Freshen up Hyunbinnie,” Jaehwan crows, “we need that contralto of yours in good shape!”

 

Hyunbin is confused, probably because he has no idea what a _contralto_ is. “There, there,” Jisung swoops in and tries to tuck Hyunbin under his wing, but Hyunbin is too tall.

 

Months and months later, he is nominated a leader once again. A lot has changed since then, but some things haven’t.

 

As part of Wanna One, Daehwi is more subdued. Jisung doesn’t ask Daehwi what happened after that day in the practice room, but he has a feeling about it.

 

When Daehwi is ready, he’ll say something. And Jisung will be there to listen.

 


	3. The Bombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trainees are disasters waiting to happen. Luckily for them, Rhymer is used to putting out fires.

 

  
  
  


Trainees are time bombs. Teenage boys are especially time bombs. Time bombs that have to be contained the moment they start ticking.

 

Rhymer usually takes a hardline approach with his kids. Most of them think that after they get scouted, everything goes smoothly. This attitude is especially prevalent in the rap industry, where swagginess is cultivated at a young age and the kids arrive at your doorstep full of themselves.

 

That’s actually why Rhymer pivoted from the rap business into the idol business. When trainees are forced to sing and dance _and_ rap, they’re humbled quickly. It makes them easier to deal with.

 

He has one hour for individual meetings with the group that’s currently going through Produce 101. “Kim Donghyun,” he hear his assistant say outside his office, “Rhymer is ready to see you.”

 

Donghyun comes in with a smile on his face, but his posture betrays his nervousness. Rhymer tells Donghyun to take a seat. Then Rhymer tells him that he’s not going to make it. Sugarcoating it won’t do Donghyun any favors—plus, the kid can handle bad news.

 

“It’s on you to focus on the next stage of your career now. Just because you won’t make it to the final eleven doesn’t mean you haven’t done a lot of good in getting there.”

 

Donghyun looks up, startled. Yes, this is probably the most encouraging thing he’s ever heard from Rhymer, and for good reason. Rhymer’s proud of the kid. He’s been stable and positive throughout the filming, and his friendliness with the other kids on the show has been good for PR. It’s a shame that Donghyun doesn’t have the face or the personality to stand out.

 

That’s fine. He’ll perform a leader function well someday.

 

“We’ve got a concept planned for you when you come back,” Rhymer says gently. A smile comes to his face. “Enjoy the last week of the show with your new friends. Don’t do anything stupid. And tell Youngmin to come in next.”

 

“Yes sir!” Donghyun sits up, bows deeply, and exits the room.

 

Im Youngmin’s face is ashen when he enters. He’s still sporting that shock of red hair. Tries to hide behind his bangs. His hands twist at his sides.

 

“Youngmin. Look at me.”

 

The kid meets Rhymer’s eyes, terrified. His hands are balled into tight fists at his sides.  

 

Youngmin is not a bad kid. But he’s not careful, and at his age, that’s a travesty. He still gets too easily provoked by small successes and small failures.

 

“Tell me about your girlfriend,” Rhymer says.

 

“I—uh—” Youngmin stammers. “Her name, uh, Is Park. Park Jiyeon. She’s—um, a second-year student at Konkuk University. She’s studying—”

 

“Bzzt. Wrong. Tell me about your girlfriend.”

 

“Um.” Youngmin clears his throat. “Sir. Her name is Park Jiyeon. Her, her parents are from Gwangju province but they moved to Seoul when she was three—”

 

“Bzzt. Try again. Tell me about your girlfriend.”

 

Youngmin’s mouth gapes open, but no sounds come out.

 

“One more time. Tell me about your girlfriend.”

 

“S-sir,” Youngmin hiccups.

 

“Let me tell you something about your girlfriend. You don’t have a girlfriend.”

Rhymer lets that hang in the air as Youngmin’s face crumples.

 

“Our press team is issuing a statement tomorrow. You don’t have a girlfriend. The rumors are false.” Rhymer leans forward in his seat and clasps his hands on his desk. “So tell me about your girlfriend.”

 

Youngmin looks at the floor, twisting his hands together. He takes a breath. “I don’t have one. The rumors are false.”

 

“Very good. Now practice that line as much as you practice everything else, and you’ll be fine in this industry.”

 

Youngmin nods weakly and turns around.

 

“Tell Park Woojin to come in next. And Youngmin—”

 

Youngmin winces, and turns around to face Rhymer. “Yes sir,” he croaks.

 

“You have an appointment at the salon this afternoon. We’re dying your hair. You can’t stand out so much. And Youngmin.”

 

“Yes,” Youngmin shakes.

 

Rhymer checks his watch. He’s gotta wrap it up, as much fun as it is to intimidate the kid. “You’re not going to make it. I’m telling you now so you don’t cry on national television. Work hard, finish solid, and don’t be surprised if you’re out by the end of next week. When you’re done, we’ve got a new single for you and Donghyun. Congratulations.”

 

“Yes, sir.” A bit more breath has come back into Youngmin’s voice, and Rhymer can’t help but grin.

 

“Tell me about your girlfriend.” And then, “Actually, just get out of here.”

 

Youngmin bows, almost falling over, and hightails it out of Rhymer’s office.

 

Woojin comes in next. Rhymer clears his throat and affects a glare. Woojin stares back.

 

“How’s your eye.”

 

“Getting better, sir!”

 

“It’s good?”

 

“Yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir. It wasn’t my intention to get sick!”

 

Rhymer shakes his head. “It’s good that you’ve been pushing through it.”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

“Don’t get sick again.”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

“There is no room for failure. Your career is riding on this. Your entire future. And the future of Brand New Music. You need to win. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

“In the next two weeks, you have two jobs. Your first job is to get into the Final Eleven. Your second job is to not get sick again.”

 

“Sir!” Woojin’s hands tremble at his sides like he wants to salute. Rhymer almost cracks up, but manages to stifle his laughter. This kid. He’s made of something else.

 

“Oh. And you have a third job. Get on camera.”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

“Woojin. Let me ask you something.”

 

“Sir.”

 

“Why do you think your ranking has shot up in the last month?”

 

Woojin is silent.

 

“Part of an entertainer’s job, Woojin, is to know why they are popular. What their audience wants. So what does your audience want from you? Tell me the top three things about Park Woojin that makes his fans go wild.”

 

Woojin’s cheeks flush dark, and he squeezes his eyes shut. A bead of sweat slides down his nose. God, but he sweats a lot, doesn’t he. Rhymer almost laughs again.

 

“Park Woojin!” He barks, and Woojin’s eyes fly open.

 

“My rap. No. My energy, which comes from my rap. And being on stage. How different that is. From when I’m not on stage. And. Uh.” Woojin licks his lips, words failing him.

 

“Want a hint?” Rhymer leans forward.

 

Woojin nods.

 

Rhymer points at the side of his mouth. Woojin’s eyes light up and he smiles widely, revealing his snaggletooth.

 

“So, let’s review. What’s your job?”

 

“To get into the Final Eleven.”

 

“How will you do it?”

 

“I’ll work hard. But I won’t get sick. And I’ll show myself on camera. More.”

 

“But,” Rhymer leans back and crosses his arms, “the camera doesn’t like you. The camera likes pretty boys, handsome boys, talkative boys, and boys who make funny faces.”  

 

“Sir.”

 

“So how will you show yourself on camera if the camera doesn’t find you?”

 

Woojin blinks furiously.

 

“Give me your phone. I know you have one. Unlock it and give it to me.”

 

Woojin obediently unlocks his phone and hands it across the desk to Rhymer, hands trembling and sweaty.

 

Rhymer pulls up the Photos app and has a quick browse through. Like he thought. Scenes of their practice rooms. Self-recorded rap videos for review. Videos of other trainees practicing. Sunsets. A sad-looking, half-eaten tteokboki. A few funny pictures of the trainees in clay face masks. A blurry shot of Boa taken from behind a glass door. And a few selfies, with the trainees looking more relaxed and intimate than Rhymer has seen them on television.

 

He takes his time swiping through the photos, grinning at the occasional photo of other Korean idols and some racy-looking manhwa pinup girls. When he’s scrolled all the way to the beginning of Produce 101, he turns off the phone.

 

When he looks up, Woojin’s face is drenched.

 

“Woojin.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“I’m taking your phone.”

 

“Yes. Of course, sir. I’m sorry.”

 

“I’ll give it back to you when you get into the Final Eleven.”

 

“Oh. Yes, sir.”

 

Rhymer pulls open his desk drawer and lays Woojin’s phone inside. Thank God. Woojin’s phone is actually disgusting. The screen is cracked and there are crumbs in the cracks and the thing is covered in grease. “You’ll have to find another camera to document these behind-the-scenes moments with your friends.”

 

Woojin gapes for a moment. Suddenly, his eyes light up with understanding. “Yes, sir!”

 

“You’re dismissed.”

 

“Thank you, sir!” Woojin bows repeatedly as he backs out of the office.

 

“Sumin,” he pages his PA over the intercom.

 

“Yes, director.”

 

“Please tell Lee Daehwi to come in.”

 

“Yes, director.”

 

Rhymer stands up and stretches briefly. He walks over to the minibar and pours himself a glass of water. On second thought, he brings out another glass as well. A softer approach will be necessary when dealing with Lee Daehwi today.

 

There’s a knock on the door. Rhymer’s not sure how a knock can sound coquettish, but there it was. “Come in.”

 

“Good afternoon, director!” Daehwi affects his usual perky demeanor.

 

“Daehwi. Please have a seat.” Rhymer points over to the sitting area, where two black leather, inclined lounge seats await.

 

This invitation seems to throw Daehwi off guard, but he takes a seat on one of the stiffer soft-backed chairs in the room, perched delicately on the edge, his hands clutching the ends of the sleeves of his batwing sweater. The black leather seat nearly swallows him.

 

“What do you want to drink?”

 

“Oh. Director. No, it’s okay. I’m fine. Thank you,” he stutters.

 

“What do you want to drink?”

 

“Oh. No, really.” Daehwi’s voice falters. “I’m okay.”

 

“You’ve worked hard, Daehwi. What do you want to drink?”

 

“Some. Some water. Is fine. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Daehwi’s voice is an embarrassed, amazed murmur.

 

“Still? Sparkling?”

 

“Oh. Oh! Um. Sparkling, please.” He’s properly flustered now. Rhymer untwists the cap off a bottle of chilled San Pellegrino.

 

“Ice? Lemon? Lime?”

 

“Lime,” Daehwi says weakly. “And ice would be so nice. Thank you. Thank you.”

 

Rhymer finishes preparing beverages and walks over to the sitting area where Daehwi is possibly even more on edge, looking a mix of terrified and amazed. That said, he’s already put out the coasters. Rhymer lets himself smile. Conscientious kid.

 

“So,” Rhymer hands Daehwi his drink—San Pellegrino, with ice and lime—and sips at his own. “Tell me about how things are going.”

 

“It’s going really well, sir.” Daehwi says.

 

“I watched your performance,” Rhymer says. Well, of course he did. “Playing With Fire. A decent arrangement. You did very well.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” Daehwi flushes. “And thank you for your advice last time. It was really helpful.”

 

“I could tell. You still were struggling to keep silent during the tenser moments,” Rhymer smiles.  

 

“It was important to shut up,” Daehwi smiles brightly, but then looks down, smile leaving in a breath.

 

Rhymer feels suddenly fierce for him. “Don’t pay attention to what they say,” he waves his hand dismissively. “Social media stuff. It’s all trash.”

 

“Sir.” Daehwi keeps his eyes averted.

 

“Your ranking will be fine.” Rhymer’s voice is gentle.

 

“They’ve been slipping,” Daehwi says, near tears. “I’ll work harder.”

 

“I don’t think you _could_ work harder, Daehwi.”

 

“I’ll work smarter, then.” Daehwi’s hands clench tightly around his glass of San Pellegrino. “I—I’m just—” He falters.

 

“I think what you need to do,” Rhymer leans in, inviting Daehwi’s gaze. “Is actually work less.”

 

Daehwi’s mouth gapes open. “Sir?”

 

“I know you like being in control of situations. But it makes you tense. And your energy is so high, it can make people nervous. It comes off the screen. Even my mother, who watches the show, said that you looked nervous.”

 

“I know,” Daehwi says, looking even more tense. “I’ll try not to be nervous anymore. I’m sorry. Sir.”

 

“Don’t be sorry to me,” Rhymer says. “What do you think people really want from you? From anyone on Produce 101?”

 

Daehwi’s lower lip trembles. “I need to be perfect. Perfection. Maybe? I don’t know. Sir. I’m sorry.”

 

Rhymer sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “No. It’s not perfection.”

 

Something freestyle, from another age past, runs through Rhymer’s head. He leans back in his chair, wanting to catch it.

 

_Ticking time bombs, your way I throw, The form of a boy, a china shop bull, Someone’s son, or someone’s brother, One, two boys, four follow another—_

 

But now’s not the right time. Daehwi is tearing up. He’s gnawed at his lower lip so much in the last five minutes it’s turning raw. Rhymer gets up to grab a few napkins from the mini bar.

 

“Relax, Daehwi. It’s okay now. Just relax. It’s fine not to be perfect. I wouldn’t say this to just anyone, but in your case, it might be even better if you don’t try as much.”

 

Daehwi’s tears come flowing down his face now, even as he assiduously avoids eye contact with Rhymer. _Oh God_ , he says under his breath, ashamed. Rhymer hands him a napkin and checks his watch while Daehwi is wiping his eyes.

 

He’s got ten minutes before he needs to prepare for his next meeting, and he still needs to make a very important point.

 

“Daehwi,” he says.

 

“Sir,” Daehwi sniffs. Rhymer knows that the kid is prone to strong emotions. And crying. He’d be lying if he said that he still doesn’t get uncomfortable at the sight of others crying. But ever since his wife had their baby last year, he’s gotten more used to it. And if he’s gotten more comfortable with anything, it’s not wasting time.

 

“You’ve done really well, Daehwi. And I know it’s already hard enough being in this industry.” Rhymer takes a breath. “And being different from the others.”

 

Daehwi looks up, startled, and then breaks out into sobs.

 

“I know you’re very careful. I’m not worried about that. We live in better times now, obviously.” Rhymer takes a breath, aware that he’s rambling. “But I do worry about how you feel, sometimes. It’s a lot of pressure.” Rhymer passes him another napkin. He thinks about the first time he met Daehwi’s mother. About how impassioned and adamant she had been that Rhymer protect Daehwi, look out for him, and assure his success after the fallout with JYP.

 

He had promised her that he would do his very best.

 

 _Don’t just do your best_ , she said, eyes burning with fire. _Just do it._

 

“In an environment like Produce,” Rhymer continues, “I can see that you might be—” he struggles for the right words. “You might be looking to others when things get stressful. And while everyone there might have good intentions, some of them might not have _your_ best interests in mind. I don’t want to see you wasting time on those who aren’t looking out for you. The way we do. The way your mother does.”

 

Daehwi breathes in sharply at the mention of his mother, and then he goes quiet. Tears roll silently down his cheeks. Rhymer has a heavy heart as he considers what’s passing through Daehwi’s mind.

 

—

 

Last week, he had invited Cheetah out for coffee in Gangnam, to catch up in general and discuss potential projects, but really, more to learn about how his boys were doing behind the scenes. They met at a cafe off the main street, more tacky than trendy, but apparently one with very good pastries. Rhymer’s wife liked dragging him here on the weekends, much to his chagrin.

 

 _Rhymer,_ Cheetah waved to him, upon arriving. They shook hands. _How did you know about this place? These guys have the best cheesecake. The patissier trained in France._

 

So even though he wasn’t really a sweets kind of person, Rhymer was pleased to be here, for once. They ordered—Cheetah a cheesecake and an Americano, and Rhymer an iced tea.

 

 _Your boy Woojin is something special,_ Cheetah said, laughing to herself. _I hope you’re doing whatever you can to keep him_.

 

 _He’s loyal_ , Rhymer had replied.

 

 _And please don’t be too hard on the llama,_ she’d said in between bites of cheesecake and sips of Americano. _He means well._

 

_Youngmin isn’t a kid anymore._

 

_His innocence is what makes him popular, though._

 

_Long-term, it’s a liability._

 

He could see that Cheetah really cared about the boys, based on the intensity of her glare, peeking out white hot from under her heavy false lashes. He relented.

 

_All right. I’ll go a little bit easier on him._

 

_You promise me, Rhymer._

 

 _Five percent easier._ He held up his hand, fingers spread.

 

 _Ten percent_. She held up two hands and flashed him a smile full of dimple.

 

 _Okay. Ten percent._ Cheetah fist pumped with both hands and took a big bite off her fork. Rhymer laughed. _Too bad he’ll never know how much his teachers are actually looking out for him_.

 

 _We’re not here for the recognition,_ Cheetah rolled her eyes. _Well, more or less._

 

Rhymer sipped at his iced tea stoically. _And Daehwi? How’s Daehwi?_

 

He had tried not to sound eager, but Cheetah smirked at him while taking another stab at her cheesecake. _Ah, the favored son_.

 

 _I treat all my children equally,_ Rhymer intoned solemnly, which provoked a snort from her. But her ensuing silence was heavy.

 

Cheetah peered at Rhymer over the rim of her Americano. _He’s finding his way_ , she said carefully. _Some days you can tell it’s tough on him. But he’s strong._

 

Rhymer gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. _Is Daehwi involved with anyone there_?

 

Cheetah’s eyes widened, but she quickly regained her composure. Even then, she didn’t laugh, so he knew his concern was justified.

 

 _Looks like oppa’s been active on the rumor mill_. Cheetah flattened her cheesecake under her fork. Rhymer’s heart sank and he felt himself getting angry. He wasn’t sure at whom.

 

_He’d better not be—_

 

 _Hey_ , Cheetah interrupted. _The kid is discrete and very careful. He’s very aware. You’ve taught him well_ . The implied words were there— _almost too well_. Rhymer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The iced tea felt clammy in his hand.

 

Cheetah continued. _And he has many friends who are looking out for him, so don’t worry._ She smiled wryly. Rhymer was so tense he was almost vibrating off his seat. _Don’t even think about going to Pledis HQ_ . _Nu’est already has it hard enough. They don’t have to worry about oppa going all gangbusters on them_.

 

 _Going gangbusters,_ Rhymer repeated stupidly. A part of him imagined the tabloid headlines that would follow _going gangbusters_. “Ex-rapper and entertainment company CEO goes crazy at rival entertainment group office! Destroys office furniture in rap-filled rage!”

 

Cheetah whistled, shaking Rhymer out of his daze. _Trust me. This thing between Daehwi and Dongho will resolve itself_.

 

 _But not well._ Rhymer rubbed his face with both hands and groaned.

 

 _A little heartache ain’t a bad thing, in our line of work._ And with that, she scraped the flattened cheesecake off the plate and finished it off.

 

—

 

Cheetah’s words reverberate in Rhymer’s head right now. His own heart aches and he can’t bring himself to look at Daehwi. Instead, he looks at his watch. His next meeting is in two minutes. Rhymer needs to wrap this up. He downs the rest of the contents in his glass and takes a breath.

 

“Daehwi. You can always count on us at Brand New Music. Your friends Donghyun, Youngmin, Woojin. They’re there for you, even if it might be hard to open up to them sometimes. You can trust them. And even some new friends, like that boy Jisung from MMO and Samuel from Brave. They’re good people. I can tell they care about you.”

 

“Yes sir,” Daehwi whispers. “They do.”

 

“And remember,” Rhymer says, “you always have a place here. You always have a place with us.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

Rhymer places his glass down and stands up. Daehwi does the same, fanning his face.

 

“Ah,” Daehwi says, voice cracking as he laughs. “Everyone will know I’ve been crying. I’m sorry.”

 

“That door next to the minibar leads to a private washroom. There’s a separate exit out to the reception. Go through there.”

 

“Oh, sir, I wouldn’t think to—”

 

“And don’t breathe a word to anyone about the Etude House hand cream by the sink. That was a gift from my wife.”

 

Daehwi’s shock turns to glee. He contains it well though, smile turning mischievous as he slices his finger across his neck in an exaggerated pantomime.

 

“Otherwise I’m finished, right? Understood, sir. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

 

The door closes behind Daehwi and Rhymer hears him turn on the faucet. He closes his eyes and listens to the rush of water.

 

_*Ticking time bombs, your way I throw, The form of a boy, a china shop bull, Someone’s son, or someone’s brother, One, two boys, four follow another—_

 

The rest of the verse that haunted him earlier returns, and he relaxes in his chair to catch it.

 

_*Someone same or something different, it doesn’t matter whose child or children, a word might make and a word might break it: the soul, the spirit: bag, bury or cremate it—_

 

_*These ideas, these thoughts, these words, these songs, we’re all just born to carry along, one right here and others material, one, two boys, four follow so lyrical—_

 

_*You want them all to be just the same, But that’s not the way you play this game, Someone’s son, or someone’s brother, treat them the same, they’ll cry for their mothers—_

 

_*These ticking time bombs. They’ll cry for their mothers*_

 

The words accelerate, hurtling past Rhymer and back into the ether faster than he can flow. Across the room, the ice clinks the glass as it melts and readjusts its position. The faucet in the washroom stops running. Rhymer sighs, and opens his eyes.

 

“Sumin,” he presses the intercom button, “send in the next one.”

 

 

 

 


	4. The Coward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonghyun's admission hangs between him and Dongho. Now they're both guilty.

 

 

 

 

Jonghyun knows he should say something. But how can he, when he can’t even set a good example?

 

He tells himself it’s the environment. It’s this place. The cameras everywhere. It’s driving all of them crazy. That outside this world, he’s a better person. 

 

 

One breath at a time. One moment at a time. If done in moments, anything is bearable. The work saves him. Throwing himself into his team saves him. Like it always has. He’s too busy to miss Aron. Minki. Dongho. Minhyun. He blinks and shudders as he tries to get a hold of himself. _One, two. Three._

 

 

“Let go of me already,” Dongho says sullenly. Jonghyun looks at his hand, holding onto Dongho’s. His knuckles are white from squeezing so hard.  They’re both panting hard from running up three flights of stairs. They’re almost at the roof. 

 

He knows he should have remembered them more. Talked to them like he used to. Remembered that they’re all scared. That they might be going slowly crazy from this place. But he hadn’t anticipated this.

 

Jonghyun hides from the camera by working harder. The way everyone is supposed to. Minki hides behind his outrageousness. Minhyun—nobody can put their finger on Minhyun.

 

And Dongho.

 

Dongho hides in stairwells. Dongho hides in stairwells, pushing people up against walls—

 

Hands all over—

 

Kissing—

 

He holds on tighter, fingers digging into Dongho’s wrist. Dongho put himself at risk. Dongho put all of them at risk.

 

“It’s none of your business,” Dongho says in a voice as cold as the air around them.

 

He lets go of Dongho’s wrist and Dongho sinks against the wall. The wind whistles through the door that leads to the rooftop. Jonghyun curses himself for not being there. For not seeing that this was happening. For not stopping it earlier.

 

Jonghyun is thankful that the stairwells don’t have cameras. Because he might actually punch Dongho right now.

 

“Who do you think you are?”

 

Dongho glares silently at Jonghyun before averting his eyes. In the fluorescent lighting of the stairwell, he looks pallid.

 

“This isn’t some kind of vacation,” Jonghyun growls, breath coming harshly. “How could you forget. We’re here to save the group. We’re not here to ruin ourselves by, by—” Jonghyun turns around and slams his hands on the guardrails. The sound echoes up and down the stairwell, a gong-like hollow. “We’re not here to fuck around.”

 

Dongho’s gaze on him has turned from sullen to smug. It chills Jonghyun to the bone. He can hear the high frequency whine of the lights flickering above. Dongho licks his lips.

 

“Have you ever thought,” Dongho raises an eyebrow, “that maybe we failed—because _we_ didn’t know what we were doing?”

 

Jonghyun grips the guardrails to steady himself. Stays silent.

 

“ _Maybe_ ,” Dongho continues, crossing his arms and walking over to Jonghyun, “maybe we didn’t know what the hell we were ever doing. _Maybe_ we were so good at following the fucking instructions and waiting our turn that _maybe_ we never figured anything out for ourselves. What life is. How to love. How to fuck.”

 

Jonghyun turns up to look at Dongho, whose eyes are boring into his, a cold smile on his lips.

 

“ _Maybe_ ,” Dongho spits, “maybe, if you weren’t so busy just _looking_ at Minhyun—”

 

Jonghyun feels the blood leave his face. “Shut up.”

 

Dongho continues. “ _Maybe_ if you actually did something, maybe if you actually had the _balls_ to do something—” Dongho grabs his own crotch, thrusting at Jonghyun, _maybe then,_ you could actually perform with something real, eh?”

 

“Shut the fuck up.” Jonghyun hisses, pushing him back. Dongho collapses against the wall. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“You’re right.” Dongho laughs weakly, sliding to the floor. “I don’t _fucking_ know, Jonghyun. Maybe I don’t know because you’ve been riding our asses for the last six years to be just as _fucking_ repressed as you are. Maybe I don’t know because I’m actually an idiot taking leadership from a coward. So who’s to say who’s right and who’s wrong?”

 

Jonghyun squeezes his eyes shut. He needs to say something.

 

“Gonna tell me off?” Dongho sneers. “Go on, then. Lee Daehwi’s a kid, right? Go ahead, tell me I'ma creep.” Dongho raises his voice. “I’m a washed up idol. Worse than a creep. It’s nothing I haven’t already told myself.” Dongho slams his head back against the wall. “A million times.”    

 

“Stop it.” Jonghyun needs to say something. Even if he hasn’t set a good example in the past.

 

“And. And.” Dongho’s voice rises. “It’s not like I’m serious about this thing. With Daehwi. _He_ was the one who wanted it to happen. He’s been the one to start all this, anyway—”

 

Jonghyun feels the wind knocked out of him. “Stop it,” he whispers. “Dongho. That makes it worse.”

 

Dongho falls silent. His head falls between his knees.  

 

Jonghyun needs to say something. He whispers, since he doesn’t trust his voice right now.

 

“Doing something doesn’t always make you courageous. Not doing something doesn’t always make you a coward. But you're right, Dongho. When it comes to my own feelings—I am a coward. But if I’m a coward, that what you said about Daehwi makes you a coward, too. And we both need to do better. Be better.”

 

Jonghyun’s admission and indictment hangs between the two of them. Now they’re both guilty.

 

“I’m sorry that I’ve held the team back.” Jonghyun feels his own tears coming on. “I will always be sorry. And right now, I’m even more sorry to you. I wasn't just holding you back from success—I was holding you back from yourself.”

 

Dongho chuckles bitterly, head still hanging. Jonghyun sits down on the steps, leaning his head back against the guardrails. He feels tears welling up in his eyes. He lets them fall.

 

“I just always thought—let’s hold on, just a little longer. Success is around the corner. The next single. The next performance. The next fanmeet. Then we’ll be there. And we’ll be free to do anything we want to do.”

 

“Ah,” Dongho cries out, slamming his head back against the wall. The thud echoes sullenly in the stairwell. 

 

“And,” Jonghyun rubs at his eyes. “Maybe there will never be a ‘ _there_ ’ the way we thought it would be. Maybe all I can do is keep Nu’est together for as long as I can. Maybe ‘ _this_ ’ version of us is all that there is. Either way, there will be a time when we’ll be free from this fear that we’ll never get ‘ _there_.’” He feels his ears ringing with their old songs. “Believe me,” his voice cracks. “I want to be ‘there,’ wherever it is. I want to be there as much as you do.”

 

Neither of them move for a while, and the lights flicker and turn off. They sit in the cold dark and both of them wait for Jonghyun's voice to emerge, like a deep sea diver swimming slowly to the surface.

 

“If you’re with Daehwi because you love him, then do this with your whole heart. Do it for all of us. Even if it means a scandal, we will be very happy for you, Dongho. We would want you to be happy.”

 

“Jonghyun,” Dongho says, strained.

 

“Nu’est will always be here for you. I will always be here for you. You must have struggled with this. And I was so wrapped up in my own world that I didn’t see you struggling. I shouldn’t have been angry at you. I’m sorry.”  

 

Jonghyun rubs his eyes again and moves to walk down the stairs, back to their dorms. Dongho stands up, blocking his way.

 

“It’s not always on you, Jonghyun.” Dongho says defiantly, chin raised. “Sometimes, an idiot is just an idiot.”

 

Jonghyun suddenly feels fatigue set upon him. No sleep. Cameras everywhere. He holds the other’s gaze for a moment, then drops it. “Get some rest, Dongho.”

 

It feels harder than ever to put one foot in front of the other. Part of him feels frozen solid. Jonghyun counts his steps, wooden, one in front of the other, until he arrives at the _Never_ dorm. It feels like he’ll never get there.

 

Heh. _Never_.

 

Daehwi’s bed is empty. Jonghyun sighs. He only has energy for one confrontation at this hour, and has no idea where to even begin looking for him. Seongwoo is still up, scribbling away furiously at his journal, the reading lamp the only source of light in the room.

 

“It’s late, Seongwoo.” Jonghyun says, feeling a yawn edge into his voice. He stifles it. “Go to sleep.”

 

“Almost there,” Seongwoo sing-songs, continuing to write.

 

Jonghyun kicks off his sneakers and crawls under the covers, shivering. Across in the opposite bed, Minhyun stirs and opens his eyes.

 

“Still awake?” He smiles a sleepy smile and Jonghyun feels his heart clench.

 

“Just came back from a walk,” he replies. “Don’t worry.”

 

“Sleepwalking? Mm,” Minhyun murmurs, closing his eyes again. 

 

Jonghyun pulls the comforter to his neck and stares at the bunk above him, teeth still chattering. He holds himself as still as possible so he won’t disturb the others.

 

He wills himself to warm up. Warm up. _Coward._

 

 

 

 

 


	5. The Meaning of the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank god for friends.

 

 

“I actually had so many bad dreams during the filming.”

 

“You never told me.” Daehwi is caught off guard by the admission, which comes with a static crackle over his earbuds. 

 

“There were too many people watching,” Somi says, looking around with shifty eyes for dramatic effect. “And ‘Crybaby Somi’ has a bad ring to it.”

 

Daehwi laughs.

 

“Plus,” Somi confesses, “I didn’t really know how to process it then. It only occurred to me recently what it all meant.”

 

“If you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine,” Daehwi says.

 

There are no cameras around right now besides the ones on their phones. Daehwi is bundled up in a park on the roof of the dorms; Somi is calling him from her van, between show appearances. They were supposed to call each other every week, but then every week turned into every other week, and now it’s been almost a month since their last call. Daehwi feels a bit guilty for not checking in, but Somi’s been busy too, and she doesn’t sound too beat up about it. So he lets himself off the hook. They're here now, and that's what counts.

 

“So, my dream. Okay. There was this dog. And it was constantly waiting outside the dorm,” Somi says. “But for whatever reason, I was the only one who could see it.”

 

Daehwi shudders. “Spooky.”

 

“And I kept wanting to go outside and bring it inside, because it was freezing outside, you know? But there was always practice, or some kind of filming challenge, or something else. And the dog got smaller and skinnier each time I saw it. I kept forgetting about letting it in each night. And then I’d wake up in the middle of the night—I’m still in the dream, so it’s like, a meta-dream at this point—and I’d run downstairs to let it in. But I’d open the door and the dog would be missing. And the next morning, it’d be out there waiting same as always. And I’d forget about it. It kept going on and on like that. I kept forgetting to let the dog in until it was too late.”

 

Daehwi leans forward. “Did you ever have a dog when you were growing up?”

 

“No. Me and my sister really wanted one, but my mom’s not a fan.” Somi grimaces. “So someday, after I make it big, I’ll have like five Welsh corgis and no one will be able to stop me.”

 

Daehwi laughs. “So did you ever figure out what your dream meant?”

 

“Yeah. I think the dog was me. I was forgetting something about myself. I kept putting it off.”

 

“And do you still have that dream?”

 

Somi smiles a sad smile. “Sometimes. But now it’s mixed in with other stuff. At one point during filming, it was every night for like a month. These days, it’s more like once every month or so. I told my mom and dad about it. They told me I need to take care of myself.”

 

“That’s sweet,” Daehwi says, and he covers his face for a moment, thinking of his own mother. “Do you—how do you feel about how it ended?”

 

“For me? Or in general?”

 

“For you.”

 

“Oh.” Somi closes his eyes for a beat, brow wrinkling. “It’s great, you know. It’s busy. And you’ll be working even harder than you ever were when you were a trainee. It’s nice to be with the group, though. We’re all really good friends now, even if we weren’t on the show.”

 

Daehwi smiles. “Yeah. The group can save you from yourself.”

 

Somi nods and sighs. “Your turn. For the dream.”

 

“So,” Daehwi starts, “I’m on the edge of a cliff, looking down into a canyon. I’m so scared I can’t move, so I’m basically stuck there the whole time. I don’t even know how I got there. I get the feeling that I led a tour group up there, or something, and then my tour group left me behind. I’m wearing one of those hats that those tour guides wears. Other than that, I’m just in my normal clothes.

 

“Anyways. It’s really cold, and I’m really scared. I’m literally clinging to the edge of the cliff with my hands lying down on my stomach. Then I wake up.”

 

Somi leans back in her seat and holds the phone closer to her face. “Hmm. Anything else?”

 

“Sometimes,” Daehwi hiccups, “sometimes someone grabs me by the foot and pulls me away from the edge. I literally scream when this happens and wake myself up, so I’ve never seen who it is.”

 

“Someone strong,” Somi smacks her lips.

 

Daehwi feels his ears getting hot. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I guess so.”

 

They’re both silent for a moment, absorbing the implications of this information. Somi leans forward suddenly, her light brown eyes intent his face.

 

“What’s going on with you, Lee Daehwi?”

 

“It’s really busy,” Daehwi says, angling the camera upwards so he’s showing a double chin. He pulls an exaggerated grimace.

 

“How’s Dongho?” Somi asks, deadpan.

 

“Um—where’d that come from?” Daehwi forces a laugh.

 

“Because last time you mentioned that he was being nicer to you, and that you guys even hung out a few times. And it's two weeks until the final elimination, and time’s a-tickin’.” Somi wiggles her eyebrows up and down, but her voice is serious. “So I’m just wondering how he is. How you are. If there’s a ‘you guys.’”

 

Daehwi feels a slow, sick feeling spread across his face. “I don’t know. Obviously.”

 

“Oh Daehwi, come on. I’m kidding.”

 

“No, you’re—” Daehwi feels his face turning hot, and he looks out at the landscape. It’s bleak in the winter—no green anywhere, the sky an overcast grey. “You’re not.”

 

“Aw Daehwi,” Somi gasps, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—okay, I’m officially shitty.” Her voice is small. “Daehwi?”

 

Daehwi scrubs his eyes with his puffy jacket sleeve, but it just ends up smearing his tears over his face. He’s angry, but not at Somi. He just—

 

Ah, god. He raises his head and blinks up at the sky. It’s not like it  _wasn’t_ obvious. It’s not like he could really hide anything—from the cameras, from Rhymer, from the instructors. From Jonghyun (god, that was embarrassing). From himself. Lee Daehwi’s whole thing is about taking feelings he feels and turning them into sweet music. But sometimes it’s just so  _annoying_  to have so many feelings that don’t get to land where they want to land.

 

“Tell me.” Somi says, after a while. “Do I need to send my goon squad to kill someone?”

 

“Maybe,” Daehwi mutters. “But I don’t know if it’s him or me you need to put out of misery.”

 

“Oh  _sweetie,_ ” Somi’s face crumples and she holds her phone closer. “Why can’t I hug you right now? This sucks.”

 

“It’s not all bad,” Daehwi takes a deep breath, musters up his best bright smile. “My performances have gotten really good. I’m getting some good material for music. I’ve been more prolific than before.” His smile falters and a sudden burst of anger and pain worms its way into the crack. “But yeah. Sometimes I hate it. I hate it I hate it I hate this  _fuckin’ soap opera_.”

 

“Gay boy falls in love straight boy?” Somi ventures gently.

 

“Excuse me,” Daehwi's voice rises and he's basically yelling out over the railing into the sky, cameras and microphones and saving face be damned, “gay boy with _daddy issues_ falls in love with straight boy with low self-esteem. Straight boy takes budding gay feelings out on gay boy. Gay boy has an even worse daddy complex at the end. Thanks world, the end. Woo!”

 

His voice cracks at the last “woo” and he laughs at himself. But Somi doesn't laugh. She waits for his manic laughter to turn quiet and sad and for the sobs to start coming and she says she's sorry. She's sorry it's happened like this. 

 

In between sobs, Daehwi hiccups, “so yeah. Right now I’m just trying to erase him. From my brain. From my world.”

 

Quietly, Somi mutters, “my goon squad can probably help you with that.”

 

Daehwi laughs again. Somi's goon squad would be totally fabulous. A gaggle of taekwondo black belts in Givenchy boots jamming their stilettos into people's heads. 

 

“Maybe the final result from all of this is that I’ll become really career-oriented. I’ll be so busy writing songs about boys that I won’t have time to actually date them.”

 

“Well,” Somi says wistfully. “It’s probably safer that way.”

 

Daehwi's nose is stuffed. He breathes through his mouth, feeling like he's five, at home sick from school. He lets his gaze wander over the tops of the clouds, far away. “There will be plenty of time for boys when this is over.”

 

“Plenty of time,” Somi echoes. 

 

 


	6. The Idol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taehyun isn’t sure when it happened.

 

 

Boa picks up the cue card to read the next name.

 

It’s uncomfortably hot in the stadium, and their polyester, Produce 101-issued school uniforms don’t make things any breezier. Taehyun tugs at the edge of his collar to let some air in and leans forward in his seat, fanning his face with both hands. All around him is the smell of 70-something sweating young men. Next to him, Kim Donghan has the first few buttons of his shirt undone, and a few seats away, Jang Moonbok has put his hair up in a bun to reprieve from the heat.

 

All Taehyun wants reprieve from is this tension. Boa looks aristocratically at the camera, dangling the cue card lightly between her fingers. So lightly that Taehyun feels like it’ll be blown away in a freak wind.

 

The air suddenly blooms explosively as the crowd erupts in cheers. Taehyun falls back in his seat. Boa has just called Lee Daehwi for third place.

 

Taehyun can’t help himself as he cheers Daehwi’s name over and over again. _Lee Daehwi_ , he chants in rhythm with the crowd, _Lee Daehwi_. He is vaguely aware that the other trainees sitting next to him are laughing at his enthusiasm.

 

“Maybe just a little louder, _hyung_ ,” Donghan smirks beside him. “I don’t think Daehwi can hear you.”

 

Daehwi stumbles toward the stage, giving breathless thanks, and then ascends the stairs to his rightful seat. It’s true, Daehwi can’t hear him from here. But that’s not the point. Taehyun ignores Donghan’s chortles and continues to cheer on his friend.

 

Daehwi waves to the camera, then to Somi who is sitting to the side in the box seats. On screen, the camera zooms on her face, wet with tears and happiness and love. With a jolt, Taehyun knows deeply that what Somi is feeling, he is feeling too.

 

The sudden epiphany drops Taehyun’s heart out of his chest, and when he regains his senses, Boa has already gathered Daniel and Jihoon on stage for the final deliberation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re bloated,” Sungwoon announced knowledgeably, as he engaged Taehyun’s face in a series of insistent pinches.

 

It was a Sunday, which meant a break from the usual filming activities. Some of the trainees went into town, but most were upstairs in the dorms, catching up on sleep or otherwise loafing around on their mobiles. Taehyun was in the former category, or trying to, at least, before Sungwoon found him under the covers and started a military-grade assault on his face.

 

“What the hell are you doing,” mumbled Taehyun as his consciousness crawled up from the underworld of his nap. Sungwoon was applying an alarming amount of pressure to the sides of his nose, and Taehyun’s sinuses tingled dangerously.

 

“Face massage,” Sungwoon intones solemnly. “To drain your face of fluid buildup.”

 

“What for,” Taehyun yelped, as the nerves in his face began to burn.

 

“Cameras! Tomorrow! Dude, have you forgotten about the third elimination?”

 

“Your concern for my face is admirable,” Taehyun threw off his covers, and with it, Sungwoon. “But there have got to be other ways to drain my face without paralyzing it.”

 

“Two for one,” Sungwoon picked himself off the floor, shooting Taehyun a superior grin. “You’re getting chubby, too.”

 

“Go on. Insult me more.”

 

“You should go for a run.”

 

It had been raining all week, one of the downsides of spring. It had made being cooped up in the studios even more unbearable. “Track is wet,” Taehyun muttered.

 

“We’ve got a stairmaster down the hall.”

 

“What? Gym equipment?”

 

“No, it’s called _the stairs_. Take a hike, bro.”

 

Taehyun suited up in black gym shorts and threw on an old t-shirt that still smelled passable, loading up NCT 127 and BTS on his playlist. It was late afternoon and it would probably get chilly later, so he tied a windbreaker around his waist.

 

“You’re such a dork,” Sungwoon said affectionately, and others in the dorm gave him an assortment of sleepy and approving glances. Taehyun blew a resounding raspberry in Sungwoon’s direction and plugged in his earbuds, toeing on his trainers as he went.

 

On his fifth lap up the stairs, Taehyun had noticed the entrance to the roof, propped open by a brick. Gritting his teeth, he sprinted to the door, tackling it cheerfully as the song on his playlist reached a peak high.

 

And that’s how Taehyun found himself face-to-face with Lee Daehwi, face stained with tears and looking more miserable than a drowned chick.

 

Daehwi spun around to shield his face. “Oh.”

 

Daehwi was smiling just this morning. Taehyun had seen him at breakfast this morning, sitting with some of the Nu’est trainees and Samuel.

 

In the cafeteria, Daehwi ate with a gusto. There was one quirk of Daehwi’s that Taehyun particularly enjoyed watching—that Daehwi wouldn’t swallow his food until his cheeks were bulging. He often wondered if Daehwi realized he looked like a chipmunk.

 

Other times, Taehyun would catch Daehwi listening to music, his earbuds plugged in, voice a quiet falsetto as he sang along with his eyes closed. Sometimes Daehwi would carry around a camera and come to Taehyun and ask Taehyun how his day was going.

 

 _What is Lee Daehwi to Noh Taehyun?_ Daehwi would asked coyly. And Taehyun would reply easily, pulling him in for a hug, messing up his hair, _something I can’t live without!_ Daehwi would scamper back out the studio, giggling and shooting Taehyun looks of reproach for such an obvious answer.  

 

“Are you okay?” Taehyun finally found his voice and his legs, and stepped forward, trying to get a look at Daehwi’s face.

 

“Gotta go, Somi,” Daehwi whispered, and hung up on his phone. Taehyun realized belatedly that Daehwi was on a call. He flushed with embarrassment and turned to leave.

 

“Wait, hyung—” Daehwi said, and Taehyun turned around. Daehwi’s eyes were wet and his nose was red. “Don’t go. Yet.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The applause rages on as Jihoon and Daniel take their respective seats at #2 and #1, respectively. Taehyun leans back in his chair, clapping on autopilot, eyes still fixated on chair #3, trying to place the moment he started feeling this way about Daehwi.

 

It couldn’t have been right at the beginning of the show.

 

Everyone was too stressed out. All Taehyun can remember from early February is that he was busy fielding Sungwoon’s neuroses on a day-to-day basis. Like clockwork, Ha Sungwoon would ask him before bed, _are we going to make it? Are we doing well? Does my face look nice today?_

 

 _Friend_ , Taehyun would sigh, and throw his arm around Sungwoon’s shoulder. _We’ll just try our best. If we just try our best, nobody can blame us for going up or down._

 

Or maybe it happened sometime in between the beginning and the center evaluation. When they were all in _A-ban_ together, practicing the _Pick Me_ choreography late into the night.

 

Lee Daehwi was cute. There was the way his face would glow when he was happy—the way he'd get a twinkle in his eye when he was pleased with himself. The way he sighed, a way that puffed out his cheeks. Lee Daehwi was cute, and this was as obvious as the sun in the sky, as the fact that oceans were made of water.

 

Taehyun liked Lee Daehwi’s _aegyo_ as much as the others did. They all liked Daehwi, the way he looked, how he moved, the way he carried himself. Daehwi was a breath of fresh air.He sparkled, caught the light. And whether Daehwi was in a sunshine kind of mood or being a bit of a brat, Taehyun felt very fond of him.

 

Lee Daehwi deserved every happiness in life.

 

Taehyun had known that he’d felt this way as sort of a general comparison for his fellow trainees, but that Sunday afternoon, as Daehwi wished for him to stay, this thought flooded his mind with a unique specificity. Taehyun was imbued with a sudden fury at whatever had the power to make Daehwi cry, and a resounding helplessness when he realized that whatever it was—

 

Whatever it was—

 

“Hey, hey,” Taehyun said, placing a hand on Daehwi’s arm, as Daehwi’s face crumpled again. “It’s okay.” He pulled Daehwi in for a hug and the younger man reached around and hugged him back.

 

 _It’s okay, it’s okay_. Taehyun learned to whisper into Daehwi’s ear. Without his insoles, Taehyun was almost two centimeters shorter than he normally would be. Nonetheless, he was grateful to be shorter right now—it allowed Daehwi to bury his face in the crook of his neck without straining.

 

Daehwi was wearing a thick sweater and jeans—jeans that rubbed against Taehyun’s bare knees as they embraced. Taehyun wondered what had brought Daehwi up here in the first place. If he was crying for something that happened to his friend Somi, or if he had been upset by something that had happened to him specifically.

 

“C’mon,” Taehyun said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

 

“Where to?” Daehwi lifted his head, sniffling. Taehyun wanted to brush Daehwi’s bangs away from his face, but refrained.

 

“Just around the corner,” Taehyun said. “I’ve got some cash on me. How about some snacks?”

 

“Oh, no—” Daehwi stepped back, scrubbing his face on his sleeves. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, hyung—”

 

“My treat,” Taehyun insisted. “We can probably buy candy with your face on it.”

 

Daehwi laughed, and Taehyun felt his heart swell a little at the sound.  

 

After his _Shape of You_ performance, they all had been watching the episode in the auditorium. Halfway through the episode, Taehyun saw Daehwi’s reaction to his opening visual—mouth open, mid-gasp. It sent a little thrill down Taehyun’s spine that it was his eye contact with the camera that did that. _The camera catches every little thing_ , after all. The trainees had laughed at Daehwi for his now-famous look of awe, and Daehwi had shot Taehyun an apologetic look over his shoulder. Taehyun wanted to tell him that there was nothing to be sorry for.

 

They descended the stairs in silence and in the lobby, Taehyun signed out for both of them.

 

“Going somewhere?” Dongho’s voice came from behind. Taehyun turned around to see him and Minki approaching the lobby desk. Minki looked back and forth between him and Dongho with something like worry on his face—Taehyun squinted, trying to remember if he had done something earlier today that might have rubbed Minki the wrong way but no, this was the first time he was running into them all day.

 

“Just to the corner store,” Taehyun replied. Daehwi was fixated on his phone. “Want anything?”

 

“Nah,” Dongho said, flashing a sunny smile. Nothing was amiss, and yet Taehyun felt the hair on the back of his neck prickling. “Just be back before midnight,” he laughed. Minki _tsked_ under his breath and said if they could, could they pick up a box of mango Pocky for him and Jonghyun?

 

Taehyun nodded, thumbing at the bills in his pockets. He had enough.

 

It wasn’t until they were fifty meters from the grounds that Daehwi let out a huge breath.

 

“Stressed, huh?”

 

“This place is such a pressure cooker,” Daehwi’s voice rose, and he walked a little faster. Taehyun broke into a light jog to keep up.

 

“It doesn’t get much easier,” Taehyun laughed. “Not that… Sorry. I’m trying to make you feel better. What I mean is, the obstacles get harder. But your ability to overcome them gets better. You’re still young, Daehwi.”

 

Daehwi huffed, a determined look on his face. “Race you to the store, hyung.”

 

They sprinted the next thousand meters with all their might, head to head until they rounded the corner, at which point Daehwi picked up his pace and breezed easily past Taehyun. Taehyun slowed to a jog, conceding the match as Daehwi did a celebratory dance in front of the convenience store.

 

“Congratulations,” he said, patting Daehwi lightly on the back, as the younger man whooped and fist-pumped and grinned. Taehyun was glad for his gym attire; he was drenched in sweat. Daehwi, in contrast, looked like he had just walked through a mist of aloe vera facial spray. Taehyun wanted to be jealous, as that would have been a more straightforward feeling, but just found himself shaking his head in awe.

 

Inside the store, they loaded up on snacks—a few savory rice crackers, a pack of spicy cuttlefish chips. Daehwi picked the ones he liked, and Taehyun trailed behind, carrying the shopping basket.

 

They found their way to the sweets aisle and Taehyun knocked down a pack of mango Pocky for Minki from a high shelf. “If you don’t make it as an idol,” he joked to Daehwi, “you might have a career as a track and field runner.”

 

Daehwi’s face fell.  

 

“Oh—” Taehyun said. “Sorry if that touched a nerve.“

 

“It's not that.” Daehwi said woodenly.

 

“You can tell me,” Taehyun ventured, remembering why they were here in the first place. Daehwi’s face, wet with tears, on the roof of the studio. “Whatever’s bothering you.”

 

“Really? Can I?” Daehwi said, and stormed out of the convenience store. Taehyun paid for the snacks in a hurry and ran outside, two plastic bags jangling.

 

Sunlight peeled over the hills in a low afternoon light, casting the convenience store in stark gold relief. The same light made the hills fuzzy and the studio seem further away than it was. Daehwi was sitting on the curb, face dark with some emotion Taehyun didn't understand. He took a seat next to him, setting the plastic bags down gently on the sidewalk, making sure that they wouldn’t tear against the concrete.

 

“You’re too nice,” Daehwi said, after they had watched a few cars drive by.

 

“Because I buy you snacks?” Taehyun blinked.

 

“Because you buy me snacks,” Daehwi repeated.

 

“So?” Taehyun said lightly.

 

“So,” Daehwi tugged at the lobe of his ears, staring blearily at the hills in the distance. “How the hell are you going to make it in this world if you’re nice?” The moment the words left his mouth, Daehwi winced and buried his face in his hands. “Oh _god_ —I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

 

“Shh,” Taehyun shook his head, and scooted closer to show Daehwi he wasn't hurt. “It’s okay, really. You’re right. I’m too nice for my own good. I wonder about it myself sometimes.”

 

Daehwi was quiet, peering at Taehyun out of the corner of his eye.

 

“There are a lot of different kinds of people in the world,” Taehyun said, sighing. “Nice and not so nice. And sometimes, you look at people who have made it and you might think—oh, they got there because they stomped over others. But that doesn’t make sense, because there are plenty of people who are successful _and_ kind.

 

"I believe,” Taehyun continued, “that it’s much better to be nice. Even if things don’t go your way, at least you didn’t hurt anyone. Or tried your best not to.”

 

Daehwi’s gaze on him was warming slowly. He nibbled on the hem of his sweater sleeve as he considered what Taehyun just said. “Hyung—” he started, voice low. “I’m grateful for people like you.”

 

Taehyun flushed under the eye contact and the admission, thankful himself that the setting sun streaked everything in a hazy, red-gold glow.

 

“As long as you’re happy, then I’ll be happy, too.” He meant it.

 

“I—” Daehwi sighed, and smiled wistfully. “I’ve done something I shouldn’t have. And it’s making my life hard. That’s why I was crying. When you found me.”

 

“What was it?” Taehyun asked lightly, trying to keep his curiosity under control.

 

“Is it,” Daehwi corrected, leaning back on the curb until he was lying down. He threw an arm over his eyes and his next words were so quiet that Taehyun had to lean over to hear them. “I like someone I shouldn’t.”

 

Taehyun knew better than to ask who, but he took a deep breath at the sudden implications of what Daehwi just told him. He knew that Daehwi was—well, that Daehwi didn’t like girls. Actually, everyone knew that. There had been some whispers at the beginning of the show whether there would be any—pairing off, of trainees. Taehyun didn’t like gossip, didn’t like how it could turn mean-spirited, but this was different.

 

Taehyun had been entrusted with a secret. His heart burned with a sudden desire to protect Daehwi—his secret, his happiness, and his future.

 

Taehyun’s heart thumped loudly in his chest as his mind presented possible options in front of him, despite his better self. He imagined who Daehwi spent time with—who would be a natural fit. He tried to remember who Daehwi had performed with. Who was kind to Daehwi—or who was unkind. Despite himself, Taehyun’s brain spun furiously at the options—who could it be? Daehwi—gold standard-bearer that he was—wouldn’t just like anyone. It had to be someone within their group of thirty-something remaining trainees. Daehwi was one of the youngest members—it would likely be someone older than him.

 

 

He shook his head to dislodge the hunches that were forming. “You don’t need to tell me any more if you don’t want to,” he said. “But I know the feeling. It’s hard. And it’s even harder in a—” Taehyun struggled for the words. “In a place like this.” 

 

 

Daehwi sat up, wrapping his arms around himself tightly—maybe in thought, maybe in the chill that had descended upon them. The sun was a faint glow over the hill, and the sky was turning pink with dusk. Taehyun undid the knot on his windbreaker and threw it over Daehwi’s shoulders.

 

“Do you know who it is, hyung?” Daehwi said quietly.

 

“I don’t,” Taehyun said. And even though it wasn’t his business, he wished he did. If only so that he could help somehow. “But—can I tell you something?”

 

Daehwi bit his lip and nodded. Taehyun briefly found himself at a loss for words before they came to him again.

 

“You’re the best, Daehwi,” he said, fire slipping into his voice despite himself. “I know you’re worried now—whether this person likes you or doesn’t like you. But in the future, you’ll realize that you were worried over nothing. See, I—” Taehyun cleared his throat. “I just scraped into _A-ban_ on the seat of my pants. I kept scraping to get to where I am now. But you’re a star. You’ll do much better than any of us here. I believe in you, okay?”

 

Daehwi was silent for a long time, and Taehyun, heart in his throat, was scared that he had said too much. But then Daehwi leaned into Taehyun’s side, looping his arms over Taehyun’s shoulders.

 

“Thank you, hyung.”

 

Taehyun’s hands came up to hold Daehwi’s arm, and he squeezed back. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As they approached the building, it was hard not to notice Kang Dongho sitting between the Grecian columns of the entrance to the studio. The street lamps hadn’t come on yet, so he was just a fuzzy form in the blue-indigo haze of twilight. 

 

Dongho stood up as Daehwi and Taehyun approached with their plastic bags in tow. “Welcome back,” he said easily, stretching, his jersey riding up to expose a sliver of hip.

 

“Oh,” Daehwi wrinkled his nose. “Are you here to enforce the curfew?”

 

“It's a free country,” Dongho responded with a cool drawl.

 

“Whatever,” muttered Daehwi, and strode past Dongho without another word.

 

Dongho stared at the empty space Daehwi had been in with a sudden confusion, as if it were an alien object. Taehyun stifled a chuckle, instead fishing in his plastic bags for Minki’s request.

 

“Here,” Taehyun said, handing Dongho two boxes of mango Pocky. “Can you give these to Minki?”

 

“Sure,” Dongho said, fixing Taehyun with an inscrutable expression.

 

Taehyun was tense. "You're giving me an strange look.”

 

“It’s only the light,” Dongho answered easily.

 

“There isn’t any,” Taehyun said.

 

“That’s the strange part,” replied Dongho.

 

From inside the entrance, Daehwi’s voice rang as clear as a bell. “ _Hyung!_ Come on, I’m hungry!”

 

“Coming, coming,” Taehyun called back.

 

Later, even as he and Daehwi and a few others were stuffing their faces with spicy cuttlefish chips and candies, Taehyun felt a chill go down his spine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He can’t help what he feels.

 

At the end of the third elimination last week, Lee Daehwi had hugged Taehyun and wished him goodbye and good luck, and told Taehyun that he would miss him. Taehyun remembers that Daehwi smelled nice, that his embrace was strong and real. Taehyun had been wearing his insoles that day, which made them almost the same height.

 

Now, Boa has just called Lee Daehwi for third place, and Daehwi’s life is never going to be the same.

 

It’s with an intense fondness that Taehyun watches Daehwi sitting in the third chair. When the ranking announcements are finally over, Taehyun runs up to Daehwi and crushes him in a hug.

 

 _You did it,_ Taehyun says over and over again, like a mantra. His heart aches for Daehwi to be safe the same time that it swells with hope for his bright future. Daehwi squeezes him back, and in a sudden burst of realization, Taehyun presses his lips fiercely to Lee Daehwi’s forehead before Daehwi is dragged away.

 

Maybe Taehyun can’t identify the exact moment he fell in love with Lee Daehwi because it only happened just now.

 

Sungwoon jumps on him in an embrace, and Taehyun holds onto his teammate for dear life. Both of them are in tears. “Seriously,” Sungwoon cries, “who will take care of your sorry face now?”

 

“I don’t know,” Taehyun laughs.

 

Taehyun is happy that Sungwoon is in Wanna One. For more than one reason.

 

“Look out for all of them, won’t you?” he says urgently, sensing the cameramen hovering. The producers are calling for the winners to congregate for a photo opp. “Especially Daehwi.”

 

Sungwoon nods blithely, and Taehyun takes Sungwoon’s face in between his hands, trying to make him understand.

 

“Just promise me,” Taehyun says, feeling terribly helpless. “Please look out for him, okay?”

 

“Okay okay,” Sungwoon laughs, batting his hands away.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next (and last!) chapter of A/B Tests will be posted by the end of this week. Please drop me a comment if you have enjoyed the story so far—it will keep me motivated and on track to deliver the final chapter! :)
> 
> <3 you all. Thank you so much for reading.


	7. The Souvenirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee Daehwi leaves Produce 101 with two souvenirs.

 

 

 

The next night, after the Final 11 selection ceremony, the real awards are announced.

 

Kim Jaehwan wins the award for “Loudest,” Samuel for “Most Likely to Succeed,” and Lee Daehwi is voted “Most Aegyo.” Given that Jihoon and Jinyoung are far more likely to act cute on camera, and given that Daehwi thought he’d already used up all his trainee-nominated award karma, this award (in the form of a heavily stickered, glittery poster printed on computer paper) comes as a bit of a surprise.

 

It’s their last dinner in the cafeteria. Some of the other boys had already elected to go home right after the final elimination. Daehwi though, wants to properly say goodbye to the studio that has consumed the last five months of his life. Actually, with the exception of Sewoon, Jinyoung, and the Nu’est members, most of the final batch are here.

 

Jisung, as the eldest, raises a glass to toast the end of an era. The older hyungs are drinking beer, while Daehwi and the other younger members have Calpicos. Feeling infantile, he nurses his drink and waits for the others to raise their bottles first.

 

The Nu’est members have all gone out for dinner separately. Daehwi wonders where they decided to go. And if they’ll be back by the time the party begins. Ostensibly, all trainees are to pack up their suitcases and go to bed early after dinner. In reality, Sungwoon has organized a party that would rival a Bacchanalian festival.

 

The _dongsaengs_ make their way to an empty practice room where Sungwoon has hidden bottle after bottle of highly illegal booze. Daehwi leaves the practice room with the others, but falls back a few paces, and turns a different corner when they are all well ahead. Daehwi has no desire to participate. He still has to come to grips with his hard-won new reality. He’s still a trainee with an uncertain future, and the new contract with CJ E &M  would only last for the next year and a half. He would still need to be very much in the public eye. Watched. Scrutinized.

 

In fact, Daehwi has little use for anything. However cutthroat he may have been during the show, before it he had always had goals, a purpose, something to be working towards: if it wasn’t writing songs, it was the mastery of all of the most difficult dances that Rhymer and the teachers could throw at him; if it wasn’t the mastery of dance, then it was being better than the others.

 

But with the show, something had shifted. After achieving the center position and dealing with the subsequent social media backlash, Daehwi had found himself without a distinct goal for the first time.

 

Two weeks before final elimination, Dongho’s father had become very ill. And where he had finally become comfortable around Daehwi—letting Daehwi touch him, letting Daehwi get close to him—he suddenly detached. He had danced like an automaton. His eyes had remained glassy and opaque even during his audition tape for center. And when Daehwi realized that Dongho was just sitting going through the motions instead of giving it his all, he had cornered Dongho in a practice room and shrieked obscenities at him. Dongho had only looked at him blankly, so Daehwi had shoved him into the wall as hard as he possibly could. The anger that bloomed on Dongho’s face as he visibly restrained himself from pushing back felt better than seeing a numb façade.  

 

Is that why he feels so empty right now?

 

He wanders through the building, eventually straying outside where the moon is bright and sterling behind a bank of thin clouds. He heads up the staircase to the roof of the building. It’s one of his favorite places to go to be alone, primarily because it’s a good distance from the dance floors, can only be reached by stairs, and therefore less likely to have cameramen parked around at any given time. It also sports a good view of the surrounding properties and the highway that leads out of this place. It reminds Daehwi that however trapped he feels, there’s a world outside Produce 101.

 

At this particular moment, it’s less than ideal, for as he opens the door to the roof Lee Daehwi is greeted by the sight of Kang Dongho, sitting by himself on a rusting bench, hoisting a near-empty bottle of soju to his lips.

 

Dongho is in his spot. His favorite spot to go to be alone.

 

He considers telling Dongho this, but given the muzzy look on Dongho’s face as he swigs down the alcohol, he highly doubts it would make a dent. The last time they were together alone—Daehwi’s heart twists.

 

He promised Somi he’d erase Dongho from his mind. Instead, he says “you’re back,” as if it weren’t obvious from Dongho being right here, right now.

 

Dongho looks up from his place and sees him, saying nothing for a moment and settling back against the wall to observe him instead. “Congratulations,” he says after a long moment. “You’ve made it to the final eleven.”

 

“Yes, I imagine you’re pretty torn up about that,” Daehwi replies. “No wonder you’ve been drinking.”

 

Perhaps it’s his imagination, but for a moment, he thinks Dongho might have smiled. “Sit down,” says Dongho, motioning to the empty bench next to him. “Help me finish this off.”

 

Daehwi doesn’t, but he does move a little closer. “What are you doing out here alone?”

 

Dongho looks over the rooftop and shrugs. He laughs suddenly, the force of his volume slightly disconcerting in the cool quiet around them. “Sorry. I’ve left you with the bottom of the bottle.”

 

Daehwi looks at him curiously. There is something remorseful about his tone that he’s never caught before. “That’s fine,” Daehwi intones flatly. “There isn’t enough alcohol in the city I could drink to make you halfway decent.”

 

“Who, me?” Thick eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Daehwi feels himself snicker.

 

“Yes, Kang Dongho, you. Are you deaf, or did the final elimination scar you so much you can’t think straight anymore?”

 

“Sorry,” Dongho exaggerates a grimace. “Just in shock at being given a lecture on decency from someone like you.”

 

“Were you?” Daehwi tosses his head. “If I were as boorish as you, I’d take advice wherever I could find it.” His voice, he notes, holds none of its usual rancor.

 

Dongho frowns. “You don’t have to humor me, you know. We’re out of here in a matter of hours.”

 

“Whoever said I was humoring you, Dongho?”

 

“You’re still talking to me, aren’t you?” Dongho leans over, inspecting the bottle in Daehwi’s hand. He gives it a poke. “Even after everything that happened.”

 

“Well, you’re in my spot. I’m just waiting for you to move.”

 

Dongho merely smiles at him, a rather mysterious smile.

 

Daehwi drains the remainder of the bottle. Dongho watches as he sets the empty bottle down with a quizzical look. “There’s a rumor going around that you never wanted to be in the final eleven,” he says.

 

Daehwi rolls his eyes—Dongho’s such a bullshitter. “Who told you that?—oh, let me guess, the same person who started the rumor about your beard having its own lifestyle brand.”

 

Dongho’s eyebrows fly up a second time, and he freezes before letting out a very loud laugh. It turned into another, then another, each progressively higher in pitch and, to Daehwi’s dismay, more contagious than the next. He shifts on the bench and purses his lips together, trying not to give into laughter himself and failing miserably.

 

“What’s the matter? Didn’t you enjoy creating an Instagram account for your beard?”

 

“Well, I was—” Dongho giggles uncontrollably—“too caught up in booking it on variety shows.” Daehwi cackles, too. “You laugh like a girl,” Dongho wheezes, completely ignoring the fact that he sounds a bit like a choir boy himself at the moment.

 

“You drink like one.”

 

“Idiot—”

 

“Jerk—”

 

Dongho gives him a shrewd look—as shrewd as he can manage with alcohol coursing through his body. “You realize we need more alcohol.”

 

Daehwi smirks. “You’re letting the soju get to you.”

 

“I am?” Dongho appears to ascertain the logic of this statement, with some difficulty.

 

Daehwi laughs softly. “Yes, Dongho, you are.”

 

“Right,” says Dongho very seriously. “I must be if I’m sharing a drink with a…” He trails off.

 

“Yes?” Daehwi says impatiently. He’s bemused. Maybe a little flustered.

 

“You’re not wearing your jersey.”

 

“We’re done with the show, Dongho.”

 

“Oh.” Dongho considers. “Oh.” He looks down at his own jersey, suddenly puzzled. “I hated this thing.” He stands and fumbles with the fabric. He pulls it up over his head. For a moment, he seems to look past it, unseeing, but then he turns and flings the jersey out over the ledge. It floats in the air, twisting and turning its way down.

 

Underneath his jersey he is, as always, dressed with about as much fashion sense as a country boy: in a thin, white t-shirt and shorts that bunch up in odd places. His shoulders are much thicker than Daehwi remembers.

 

Daehwi himself has lost much of his baby fat during the show—he is, unfortunately, still half a head shorter than Dongho, but his arms have filled out a little bit, while the pointed, angular features of his face have become sharper, more defined. He looks good in his Produce 101 school uniform these days—not that it matters now. Dongho, he knows, would go back to Pledis. Maybe he’d wear suits. If he did, he’d look very nice.

 

And now they are here, Daehwi thinks, studying the solid and inebriated form in front of him. To look at Dongho now, Daehwi sees a sensitive person that needs care and occasional discipline—a rascal bandit, indeed. The thought makes his heart quicken.

 

 _Quiet,_ he tells his heart, but it keeps galloping on.

 

“What are you looking at?” Dongho asks him suddenly, as he sits back down on the bench. “You’re thinking about something.”

 

“I’m just wondering… what’s going to happen to Nu’est?”

 

Dongho seems to sober up a little at the question. “Oh,” he says. “What makes you think there’s still a Nu’est after all this?”

 

“Oh,” says Daehwi. “But why wouldn’t there be?”

 

“You’ll have to get me drunker than that, Lee Daehwi,” he says after a long pause. “Speaking of which.” He taps on the empty bottle of soju.

 

Daehwi snorts. “Stole that from Sungwoon’s stash, did you?”

 

“Actually, this bottle is mine. I was waiting for a good moment.” Dongho is definitely sobering up. “Hey, why aren’t you down there with the rest of them?” His gaze is piercing. “I guess you were you looking for me?”

 

“No, no no.” Daehwi stutters, “I just don’t want Seonho glomming onto me with his sticky fingers and barfing all over my shoes.”

 

“They are nice shoes,” he says matter-of-factly.

 

They’re just the Filas that were gifted to them—the same as everyone else’s shoes. Same as the shoes Dongho is wearing now. Daehwi was obsessive about keeping his clean during the show, but now he feels the urge to scuff them up.

 

Dongho’s eyes are bright. “Let’s go get more. Sungwoon brought a huge stash in, right? I’ll go get another bottle and come back. Easy peasy.”

 

It occurs to Daehwi that they’re the last two people in Produce 101 who should be drinking together. “I’m coming with,” he says weakly. 

 

Dongho grins. “If the others see you, it’s unlikely that you’ll come back with me.”

 

“Oh,” Daehwi isn’t sure how to interpret that, but he feels his heart skip a beat. If he doesn’t have arrhythmia already, he is definitely going to have it by the end of the night. “I wasn’t aware that this was a _private_ rooftop party.”

 

In the stairwell, they’re laughing in muted voices. When Dongho chuckles, his voice rumbles in the cavernous space like the faint growl of something predatory. Daehwi remembers what only happened a few weeks ago.

 

Months and months of wondering whether Dongho liked him that way, of trying to get Dongho’s attention, of flirting with him, of being terrified of him. When Dongho had cornered him in the stairwell and demanded, _Lee Daehwi, what the hell do you want from me_ in a voice pitched heated and low, Daehwi had finally reached up and brought their lips together.

 

A mistake. That’s what he’d told himself then. Sleep-deprivation and constant surveillance had begun to drive him crazy.

 

“Judging from how slow you’re moving,” Dongho says, “one would think that you didn’t want to hang out with me.”

 

Tonight might be another mistake in the making. The thought thrills Daehwi to the core.

 

He forgets to reply until they are halfway down the stairs to the dorm rooms. By then, he figures, it’s probably too late.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The party in the dorms is still in full swing. No one notices as they pass out of the common room into the hallway. He doesn’t realize that even after passing Jaehwan’s drunken attempts to sing _My Heart Will Go On_ to Minhyun and Jonghyun that he’s been holding onto Dongho’s arm since he nearly slipped down the main stairwell. With Dongho’s pulse beneath his fingertips, he wonders briefly if he ought to let go.

 

Dongho glides down the hallways. Watching him, Daehwi realizes that Dongho is the better performer of the two of them. Where Daehwi plans, calculates, and analyzes, Dongho instinctively feels, the same way he’s feeling his way through the thick darkness of the corridor now. Winging it like the bandit he is.

 

In the darkness he hears Dongho’s stifled laughter. “That must be it.” He turns the door handle.

 

The box of booze still has a few bottles left. Dongho stuffs one under each arm. “You really like breaking rules, don’t you, bandit?”

 

“We’re done with the show, Daehwi.” He reconsiders and hands one of his bottles to Daehwi. “Mnet rules aren’t our rules anymore. Plus, weren’t you part of the crew that snuck these in?”

 

Before Daehwi can reply that it was Sungwoon’s plan, something very close by them lets out a whine that nearly makes them drop their loot. They spin around to find a cat grimacing at them. “Shit,” Dongho mutters. “Where’d that come from?”

 

Daehwi whispers, “I think it belongs to the security guard.”

 

“Okay, let’s just play it cool.” Dongho’s voice is light. Daehwi moves to close the door, but quick as a shadow the cat darts to the door frame, settling itself there with a look as disdainful as the ones Dongho throws at the teachers when they’re not looking.

 

“Kick it outside!” Dongho hisses.

 

“So now we’re abusing animals?”

 

“Or we can leave it in the studio.”

 

“But if it's locked in, the security guard will know that someone was in here.”

 

“Well,” Dongho took a deep breath. “I suggest we move quickly, then.”

 

“Right.”

 

They start a light jog down the corridor, back the way they came. They manage approximately twenty feet when suddenly Dongho stops and jerks Daehwi back against him. Daehwi drops his bottle and makes an effort to catch it, but only succeeds in blunting its fall. The bottle rolls halfway across the floor. “What was that for?” he glowers, but Dongho only clamps a hand over Daehwi’s mouth and yanks him flat against the wall of the hallway.

 

Not a second later, a guard rounds the corridor and kneels to pick up the bottle. “Well well, what’s this?”

 

The guard’s gaze slowly moves from side to side. Daehwi’s brain races through all the possible outcomes of their current situation. He has an impulse to announce himself and give Dongho a chance to make a run back upstairs. Something like this could ruin Dongho with the public and sink Nu’est even lower than they had been. Yes, he would just step forward, and—

 

He and Dongho both move at once. He feels the warm grasp encircling his wrist leave him, and sees Dongho about to step forward. He grabs Dongho’s hand, and they gape at one another before mouthing simultaneously, _What are you doing?_

 

 _Go!_ mouths Dongho.

 

 _Me? Why?_ mouths Daehwi.

 

He sees the answer in the urgency of Dongho’s wide-eyed stare, the way Dongho searches his face, as if he’s discovered something there he doesn’t want to let go.

 

The security guard, with a dogged and focused determination, turns the corner. “Aha!” His voice holds a glee, and he fumbles his torch on. “And what have we here?”

 

His surprise is consummate. Two boys who couldn’t be more different—pressed together, holding onto one another, scrunched as compactly as they can be against the wall, looks of incomprehension on both their faces. They all stare at each other. Eventually, astonishment replaces confusion, and completely without warning, the security guard erupts in laughter.

 

The light from the guard’s flashlight shakes, along with his entire body: it sends shadows rippling over Dongho’s face and hair. Dongho is so close Daehwi can see the way his eyelashes stick together, the throbbing veins in his neck, the darkening stubble on his jaw.

 

The guard is still laughing but all at once the sound is far, far away from Daehwi. In the end it is Dongho’s voice that cuts through the thick. “Sir?” he ventures tentatively. Mid-wheeze, the guard tries to speak, but responds instead by handing the confiscated bottle of soju to an astonished Daehwi before walking away, chuckling to himself.

 

The two of them remain silent for a full moment after the guard’s voice dies away, and finally, with a single glance between them, they break into peals of relieved laughter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They find their way back to the roof. It’s been half an hour, and with the help of the soju, their hysteria from earlier finally begins to subside.

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

“Why would I be kidding?”

 

“Christ, Dongho, you’re out of your mind if you think that Twice is going to last longer than five years. They’re basically talentless.”

 

“But they’re really cute.”

 

“Well, cute has a—” a hiccup—“a shelf life.”

 

“And your opposition to Twice has nothing to do with your friendship with Somi? Sounds biased.” Dongho swigs from the bottle Daehwi holds over his shoulder. Dongho’s fingers slide down the neck of the bottle and over Daehwi’s fingers, where they linger a moment.

 

“I.O.I was selected by the public. Totally. One hundred percent. No executive _meddling_.”

 

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

 

“What gives you the confidence to say that?”

 

“I just know. I mean, I don’t know, Lee Daehwi. ‘Cuz I’m drunker than you are.”

 

Daehwi giggles. “Better save some of the bottle for me, then.”

 

Beside him Dongho shivers, and his fingers close over Daehwi’s as he takes another swallow. “Not on your life,” Dongho purrs.

 

Daehwi hiccups again, and the jolt of his shoulders lurches Dongho’s elbow from its prop. His hand comes to rest on the back of Daehwi’s neck. He leaves it there as he stretches like a cat, finally settling back against Daehwi. Daehwi leans into him as well, grateful that Dongho’s body is much softer than the metal of the lattice behind them.

 

In the middle of studying him, Dongho runs his hand slowly, just once, through Daehwi’s hair, curving up over his scalp and letting his fingers follow the locks to where they feather into nothingness around his cheek. The touch chills Daehwi, then chills him again, heat tingling against his skin where Dongho’s fingertips barely brush his cheek.

 

“You know what I think?” His question feels surprisingly sober.

 

“No, Dongho, what do you think?”

 

“I think you think too much about everything.”

 

“Oh, and you don’t?”

 

“I’m actually pretty dumb,” Dongho deadpans. “I just react to stuff.”

 

“So, you think my mind has been poisoned by too much pop culture.”

 

“Yeah,” Dongho says, shifting closer. “You pick up everything you know about aegyo from watching girl groups.”

 

“You’re in luck, Dongho,” he answers smoothly, leaning his forehead against Dongho’s. “I hear that you like them cute.”

 

Dongho laughs, a fluid peal of laughter like before, only his voice is warm, like the soju coating his throat. Daehwi’s body relaxes under the sound, and he can feel Dongho’s side pressing into his own as they settle into each other.

 

It’s hard to feel anything but warmth for Dongho right now. “Why is everyone afraid of you?” Daehwi teases.

 

“I don’t know why,” Dongho’s grin says otherwise.

 

Dongho’s back is still tucked into the curve of Daehwi’s side. Every now and again, he lifts his head long enough to run the tip of his nose over the back of Dongho’s neck, inhaling the scent, trying to decipher it, feeling Dongho tense and shiver beside him under the touch.

 

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” Daehwi whispers into Dongho’s ear, somewhat dramatically.

 

“You’re not everyone.” Dongho turns his head in Daehwi’s direction, ostensibly to look at him, but winds up instead with his nose pressed against Daehwi’s jaw. Dongho shifts in his arms and turns halfway around to face him.

 

“I’m not everyone,” Daehwi repeats. “And anyways, nobody will be scared of you when they realize you smell like mangoes.”

 

Dongho snickers. “That’s Minki’s shampoo. I ran out of my own.”

 

Daehwi finds this terribly endearing, and ruffles Dongho’s hair. The smell of mangoes blooms like a flower in the night air. Dongho twists in his grasp, embarrassed, and produces the bottle of soju.

 

“There’s still enough for us to have a toast, if you like,” he says. He sounds uncertain, as if it’s a matter of great concern to him that Daehwi might dislike this idea.

 

“Let’s toast,” Daehwi says, covering Dongho’s hand with his own. “To eliminations and to this place.”

 

“And to fame,” adds Dongho.

 

Daehwi’s grip tightens on the bottle, on Dongho’s hand. “Why?”

 

“Don’t you think he’s the reason we’re where we are? Who we are?”

 

“Ah well,” Daehwi says softly, “there was life before this, and there will be life after this.” He pulls the bottle down between their lips. “To fame, and life after fame.”

 

Dongho’s eyes drink him in while the soju burns his throat.

 

Silence falls between them at that, and they sit for some time, motionless, Dongho with his back to Daehwi, looks out at the sky. “What will you do in life after fame, Daehwi?”

 

Daehwi lets his lips press against Dongho’s ear as he whispers. “I don’t know.”

 

“Is there anywhere you want to go?”

 

“I don’t really care. Maybe back to the U.S. Maybe I’ll stay in Korea. What about you?” he mumbles against Dongho’s skin.

 

“If everything goes wrong, I could just stay at Pledis.” Dongho says. “And produce.” He clarifies.

 

“Are you going to do that because that’s what you want to do?”

 

“Daehwi—” he stops abruptly.

 

“Yes?”

 

“…these days, I think about you when I’m on stage.”

 

The admission sends shivers up Daehwi’s spine. “Me too, Dongho.” In a sudden burst of courage, he asks the question that’s been on his mind all night.

 

“Why were you outside all alone? That day when Taehyun and I went to buy snacks.”

 

Dongho is quiet.

 

“Were you waiting for me?”

 

Dongho’s lips twist in a reluctant smile. It’s as much of an admission as he can manage.

 

Daehwi closes his eyes and leans forward, kissing the hollow of Dongho’s throat. Dongho emits the most extraordinary half-hiss, half-gasp and tilts his head back until he’s leaning completely into Daehwi’s arms. Daehwi pulls him closer.

 

Dongho’s eyes open as he draws in his breath. “Will you be okay with Wanna One?”

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

“I hope they know—” Dongho sits up, swirling around on the bench to face Daehwi. “You’re the best they could have asked for,” he says fervently.

 

Daehwi is almost too shocked to respond. “You’re drunk,” he replies at last.

 

“But I’m not wrong,” Dongho says, grasping Daehwi’s face in his hands, thumbs resting on his cheekbones.

 

“I’m just one of a hundred and then some.” Daehwi swallows.

 

“Bullshit, Daehwi.” Dongho presses his forehead against Daehwi’s. His breath is hot and heavy. “Bullshit.”

 

Dongho kisses him fully on the mouth. Daehwi knows from the moment their lips meet that Dongho has wanted this for hours, weeks, months. They grab each other’s shirts and pull each other close, trying to make up for five months with one kiss.

 

Daehwi swims in the moment. He doesn’t know how long he stays locked in Dongho’s kiss—a second, a minute, an hour, are all the same eternity passing through him. When he breaks apart at last his voice is stuck in his throat. “Dongho,” he croaks, “we’ve had a lot to drink.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s not like…" Dongho mouths at Daehwi’s collarbone, considering. “You said there wasn’t enough liquor in Seoul to make me decent company.”

 

“I didn’t mean it,” Daehwi says, and feathers tiny bites over the soft underside of Dongho’s arm.

 

“Why do you even like me,” Dongho says, suddenly quiet.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“I’ve made things hard for you. I’m not a nice person. I’m not good to you. And I’m stupid.”

 

Daehwi drops his hand to Dongho’s cheek. “I like you because you’re you,” he says in a rush, pressing his lips over Dongho’s eyelids, on his forehead, before coming to rest on his lips. “You’re kinder than you seem. You care a lot. And you’re an amazing artist.”

 

Dongho laughs, but it’s not a nice sound. Fighting a strange tightening in his chest, Daehwi continues.

 

“I like you because I like you. I like the way you move. The way you look at me. The way you kissed me, just now. I just like you. I don’t need a reason.”

 

“Right.” Dongho slides away from Daehwi slowly, leaving him feeling suddenly empty.

 

“I mean,” Daehwi tries to fill in the void, “why do you like _me_?”

 

Dongho mulls over this. “I just do,” his voice wavers.

 

“Even though you’re straight? And this is crazy complicated?”

 

Dongho turns Daehwi around by his shoulders so they’re face to face again. “I might need to rethink that first part,” he says hoarsely, cupping Daehwi’s chin in his palm. Daehwi looks at him warily.

 

“And what about the complicated part?” he says softly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dongho murmurs.

 

“For what?”

 

“For complicating stuff.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“I like you. And kissing you,” Dongho says earnestly.

 

Daehwi is dizzy all over again. “You’re not just saying that because you’re drunk?”

 

“No.” Dongho sighs and pulls him in. “No, I’m not.”

 

Dongho nips at Daehwi’s throat. Daehwi whimpers and pushes the dark hair away from Dongho’s forehead. Dongho’s kisses grow more feverish, and Daehwi stretches his neck into them, inadvertently grinding against Dongho. Dongho grips his shoulders and holds him in place even though he has no intention of moving. The urgency feels good, so good, and he digs his fingers into Dongho’s flesh, hungry for contact. Dongho shivers and moans, kisses his way up to the underside of Daehwi’s jaw, grinding into Daehwi’s thigh. Daehwi arches off the floor.

 

“Do you like that?” A breathy chuckle.

 

Daehwi smiles grandly with eyes closed. “I feel quite drunk.”

 

“But you barely had anything.”

 

“I’m having you right now.” Daehwi runs his hands down Dongho’s thighs. They tense under his fingertips. He seeks Dongho’s lips for another kiss.

 

Dongho hums into it, pulling Daehwi on top of him before breaking apart to mouth at Daehwi’s neck. In the back of his mind, Daehwi realizes that Dongho is giving him a hickey, but he feels only a rush of glee, and maybe pride, at the thought.

 

He’s about to return the favor when Dongho pulls him up.

 

“Daehwi…” Dongho casts a guilty glance at the blooming red flower on Daehwi’s neck. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

 

Daehwi doesn’t want to think about tomorrow, so he tries to distract Dongho by nibbling his way across his collarbone.

 

Dongho groans in pleasure, but an urgency creeps into his voice. “Are you scared?”

 

No. Daehwi doesn’t want to think right now. He just wants to _be_ here. It feels so good to not think for once, only the two of them here on the roof overlooking the building and the grounds. He wants to keep this moment out of reach of boys and men and cameras and life, somewhere only he can touch and view and know. In the drunken haze of his mind, he doesn’t know what to do with this searing want, except to hold on.

 

“I’m scared—” Dongho tries again, “since we’re doing this—”

 

“What, this?” Daehwi bites lightly at his neck.

 

Dongho’s breathing is tense as he pushes himself up fully, one hand running through his hair as the other clutches onto the edge of the bench to steady himself. “We shouldn’t.” 

 

“We’ve already broken so many rules,” Daehwi says, sharpness entering his voice. “What’s one more?”

 

And just like that, the moment is gone.

 

All the sweetness, the vigor, the sparkle in Dongho’s eyes is overcome by uncertainty, masked by an anger that is turning in on itself. Daehwi has seen this happen so many times. Over and over again. During the first auditions. During practice. On camera, off camera.

 

“Are you sure this is even a good idea?” Dongho’s words trip over one another. “I mean—you won’t wake up in the morning and decide you just made the biggest mistake of your life?”

 

“Do you think _you_ will?” Daehwi feels his head spinning, but it isn’t from the alcohol this time.

 

“That’s not what I asked.”

 

“Dongho,” Daehwi pleads. His fingers grasp at Dongho, at the bench, trying to anchor himself to something. “Nobody knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

 

“Ah,” Dongho says. He buries his head in his hands.

 

A surge of emotion clenches at Daehwi’s throat. “And. I like this. I like being with you.” Daehwi finds himself stuck in time as he watches Dongho struggle for his next words.

 

“But I think—you’d be better off if you didn’t. Didn’t like me.”

 

The earlier dizziness cascades into a tumbling heaviness in and around him. Daehwi’s limbs turn wooden, dead weight pulling him to the floor.

 

“What is Lee Daehwi to Kang Dongho?”

 

Kang Dongho tells him: “Something I don’t deserve.”

 

He looks incredulously at Dongho, trying to make his face out in the dim light. It looks alien—just a random sequence of eyes, nose, and mouth. He feels lonelier now than he ever has.

 

Dongho pulls him into an embrace. Another kiss, to his forehead. _I’m sorry_ , is all he says. Daehwi follows the embrace like a marionette, skin numb to the touch. When he finally pulls himself together enough to release himself from Dongho’s grasp, Dongho is still whispering it, like a mantra. Daehwi doesn’t look back as he stumbles his way toward the exit.

 

_I’m sorry._

 

Downstairs, the party is dying down. Some of the boys are collapsed in beds, two or three apiece, limbs thrown on top of one another. Jaehwan is still awake, serenading a dazed-looking Lai Guanlin, a red-faced Ong Seongwoo, and a clapping Ha Sungwoon.

 

“God, you’re all so loud,” Daehwi says.

 

“The center returns to us,” Sungwoon turns around, opening his arms in welcome. “After a long trip to the other side of the world.”

 

“I’ve just been outside.” His voice is so quiet, so far away, he can barely hear himself.

 

“Sure,” Ong nods, smug as ever, but thankfully doesn’t expand on his insinuation.

 

 _That’s it_ , thinks Daehwi, plopping himself down next to his new bandmates. He’s gotten into the final eleven. He’s still a trainee with an uncertain future, and the new contract with CJ E&M will only last for the next year and a half. He’ll need to be very much in the public eye. Watched. Scrutinized. And after promoting for a year and a half, he’ll go back to BNM and debut with his old team. And then they’ll dance and sing and rap for the next five years, ten if they're lucky, until they're exhausted and burnt out and ready to settle down.

 

Whatever that means.

 

“We’ve still got all this soju,” Daehwi cries, swinging an unopened bottle over his head like a trophy. “Drink, boys, _drink_.”

 

Daehwi kicks it off by ripping open the bottle. Sungwoon chases him around the room, trying to stop him from drinking the whole thing, much to Seongwoo and Jaehwan’s shrieks of delight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When his mother comes to pick him up the next day, Daehwi has already showered twice to get rid of the stink of alcohol. Still, he can sense her worry as he loads his bags in the trunk. Her nose wrinkles in what is probably a mix of disgust and concern.

 

“You stayed up all night with your friends, didn’t you.”

 

“Had to,” Daehwi says with as much cheer as he can muster. His head hurts.

 

“And why are you wearing a turtleneck? It’s so warm today.”

 

Daehwi is silent. His hand strokes at his neck, at the tender spot that’s turned black and yellow this morning. “It was the only clean piece of clothing I had.”

 

“Well, when you’re home,” his mother says, “we’ll have to do all your laundry. Twice.”

 

They’re about to get in the car when Daehwi notices something in the patch of grass in the roundabout. “One sec, mom.” He runs over to a blue heap of cloth that lies on the ground in a slightly damp crumple.

 

“What is it?” His mother calls out.

 

Daehwi shakes the grass off Dongho’s jersey. It’s damp to the touch, dirt smudged in a few patches. In the broad daylight, with the sun beating down and the familiar sound of the family car idling in the background, it’s surreal to smell mangoes and aftershave.

 

“One of my friends must have left this here by accident,” Daehwi says, throat dry.

 

“Out here? Did he already leave?”

 

“I’ll just keep it for now,” Daehwi says, balling up the jersey in his hands. He smiles his best smile for her. “I’ll just give it back when I see him next.”  

 

In the car, his mother softens. She says she’s made all his favorite foods tonight. “ _Chungmu kimbap_ , _haemul jeongol_ , _kimchi pajeon,_ and I got you some strawberry ice cream, too. It’s been awhile since you had so much food at once, right?”

 

Lost in thought, Daehwi’s fingers twist around the jersey. By the time he remembers to reply, it’s too late. They drive the rest of the way home in silence.

 

 

* * *

 

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it's over. 
> 
> It was painful to end it like this, but I couldn't see any other way for the two of them. In the end, our boys have a lot of growing up to do. They are still young. 
> 
> This series continues in Part 3, the [first chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13133415/chapters/30042567) of which will may be interesting for those who want to explore what happened in the stairwell from another perspective. 
> 
> My gratitude goes to my sister, beta-reader and character critic extraordinaire, who relentlessly interrogated my word choices and pacing for the truth. Thanks to her, the resolution could come together in a more balanced way. 
> 
> Last but not least, Happy Holidays to all dear readers. As we wrap up a crazy year (a lot of good, a lot of bad happened this year), I wish you calm and peace and niceness over the holidays, wherever you are in the world. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. <3


	8. The Studio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes as all love stories go: once upon a time, one person liked another person very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Music** | What Have We Done to Each Other [Trent Reznor]

* * *

 

 

Once upon a time, Lee Daehwi liked Kang Dongho very much.

 

He liked the way Dongho walked from the stage to the seats when his name was announced. He liked the way Dongho looked unsatisfied and hurt. He liked the way Dongho’s stubble would come in strong exactly at five o’clock every day. He liked it about how white Dongho’s teeth were when he smiled. He liked it very much that he didn’t look like a typical boy band member.

 

Lee Daehwi was sixteen and he had spent six years in America, which made him slightly better than the others who hadn’t spent time overseas. Daehwi liked to write music in his spare time, which also made him better than most of the others who didn’t know how to write music. Daehwi knew from Dongho’s history that Dongho also wrote music and had also toured overseas. He liked very much how Dongho had a fanbase that was small but loyal and how the fanbase gave Dongho the name _Sexy Bandit_ and he found that he liked the way that Dongho’s hair was black on his arms and how white they were above the tanned line when he washed up in the showers next to the dorms. Liking that made Daehwi feel funny.

 

* * *

 

Daehwi had a nice face and nice neck and always wore his clothes clean and neat. Dongho noticed that Daehwi was always neat. He liked Daehwi’s face because it looked like a girl’s but otherwise didn’t think about Daehwi.

 

Dongho came to Produce 101 from Nu’est which was a failed boy band. He had tried for almost six years to make it big. Dongho was a good singer but did not look like much of a singer even when he had his hair dyed in fantastic colors and wore aggressive clothes. He looked more like a baseball player or a yakuza.

 

Produce 101 was a television show but it was also a place two hours outside Seoul on the road to Paju. There was the Studio which was just a subdivided warehouse but looked like a Grecian temple from the front. The Studio was where the show was filmed. There was fountain outside the building with a replica cherub that spewed water only a few days a year and a track that looped around a football field that was always wet and a convenience store down the dirt street outside. The houses around the studio had blue tin roofs and grey walls of plaster. This was farming country and the land was cheap up and down the road.

 

From the roof of the Studio you could look past the houses and to the highway that snaked into the mountains and out of here. Beyond the mountains was the next town over. It was a beautiful view in the spring and summer, the sky blue and bright. In the winter, there was the tell-tale whitecap of snow on the mountain. From the roof of the Studio Lee Daehwi could see the cars drive on the highway in strips of white and red lights. Some days when he was up there they didn’t seem to be moving at all but if he went inside to practice and then came back upstairs the highway would be empty with nothing going into the mountain or coming out.

 

Winter turned into spring that year and all the time now Daehwi was thinking of Kang Dongho. He didn’t seem to notice Daehwi very much except when he needed something. He talked about the show to his friends and about what he would do when he got out of this place and about how rotten the industry was. To Daehwi it sounded like biting the hand that fed him but Kang Dongho was part of a failing boy band so maybe he was allowed to be bitter. In the evenings Kang Dongho watched TV in the common room and played mobile games on his phone and took his time in the shower. In the mornings he took his time shaving but by five’o clock his stubble would be back, a dark and hazy shadow that Daehwi liked very much.

 

Lee Daehwi and his best friend Jeon Somi often Facetimed on the roof of the Studio. She was busy and so was Daehwi but they liked to keep in touch. Daehwi hurt for her understanding very much. He wanted to make Dongho notice him somehow but he didn’t want to do anything that would go wrong. Daehwi was afraid to ask Somi for any advice and afraid that if he brought it up that Somi wouldn’t have anything helpful to say because this was the kind of thing that couldn’t be helped. It would have been all right with Somi but Lee Daehwi was afraid and only said very little.

 

All the time Dongho was practicing or watching TV when Daehwi thought about him. It was awful to go through the days when Dongho barely even noticed. Daehwi couldn’t sleep well from thinking about Dongho but he discovered it was fun to think about Dongho too. If Daehwi let himself go it was better.

 

The night before they were all supposed to go onstage and sing their arrangement of a song from a popular girl group he didn’t sleep because it was mixed up in a dream about not sleeping and really not sleeping.

 

After the show when they were watching the playback and the scores from the audience came in Daehwi felt weak and sick inside. He couldn’t wait until the evaluation was over and they could go back to just being back to the way they were which was Dongho not noticing him and Daehwi noticing him in the shadows. If they could just do that until the show ended or until one of them got voted off then he would be all right.

 

The evaluation ended and they walked outside. They were all sweating but Dongho most so. His shirt was made of a filmy material and clung to the planes of him from his sweat. The other boys were waiting backstage and welcomed them with a round of applause as they sat down in their chairs to watch the other performances. Daehwi took a seat behind Bae Jinyoung who smiled at him mysteriously through his patch but behind it was just pinkeye. You did well, Bae Jinyoung said. You hadn’t known what would happen up there on stage when you got back but you were sure it would be something. Nothing had happened. You had just finished your performance, that’s all.

 

Dongho watched the performances just like you. Some of the performances were hard but done well and some of them were clunky but Daehwi could see that everybody was doing their best which made it even sadder because someday everyone would have to go home except for the chosen final eleven.

 

“What did you think, Dongho?” Daehwi asked, when all the performances were done.

 

“Not bad.” Dongho fanned himself with the shirt the stylist had put on him for the performance. Daehwi copied him and they both laughed.

 

On the nights they finished challenges they would celebrate and tonight was no exception. They washed up back in the dorms and then went out to for dinner in the town past the mountain.

 

The older ones like Dongho were drinking beer and when the night got later they asked the waiter for soju. The quiet ones became quieter and the louder ones became louder but when everyone laughed that was the restaurant at its loudest. Even though Lee Daehwi wasn’t of drinking age he still felt drunk with what the smell in the air and the speed of the talking and the jokes and the atmosphere. In the late hour Dongho passed him the bottle in which the liquid slopped back and forth. He did it in a casual way that was like he forgot Daehwi’s real age. Daehwi sniffed it but didn’t drink. Dongho took the bottle back and took a long pull. Some of it ran down his chin. Then he sent for more and the waiter brought out another bottle and Dongho poured out big shots for the other hyungs around the table.

 

“Good job to everyone tonight,” said Jonghyun, who always felt the need to say something during celebrations like this. “Everyone worked really hard.”

 

“Fuckin’ hard,” Dongho said.

 

“And to all of those who didn’t make it from before,” said Moonbok, with tears in his eyes.

 

“Tastes good,” said Jaehwan.

 

“The best for this kind of feeling,” said Ong.

 

“How about another one, boys?”

 

“Sure thing, let’s go around again.”

 

“Down the hatch.”

 

“‘Til the next elimination.”

 

Dongho began to feel great. He loved the taste and feel of soju. He was glad to be here with his old teammates, with Jonghyun and Minhyun and Minki at one table and even with the others. He was shy of the attention and not used to it especially when they had never been that famous anyway. Fame was an acquired taste, he was realizing through the show. People looked at him here in a way he didn’t know what to do with. He had another drink and looked around the table. Daehwi had moved to sit with the younger boys and he was laughing at something. It was a good dinner. Everyone ate a lot. After dinner they went into the lobby and put on all their coats and headed out into the winter that was turning wet into spring. The vans that were waiting for them took them back to the Studio.

 

One by one like schoolboys they went upstairs and washed up. Dongho was sitting on the bean bags in the common room apologizing to Sewoon for being a jackass about the arrangement. Sorry that I tried to overcontrol things, he said. Sewoon looked at him with a little smile that said he accepted Dongho’s apology and then Sewoon admitted that the arrangement might have been better in the rock style that Dongho had originally proposed. He asked Dongho why he didn’t want to lead. Dongho didn’t have the answer so their conversation stopped there.

 

Daehwi had just finished his shower and was sitting in the kitchen area pretending to play a game on his phone and thinking about Dongho. He didn’t want to go to bed yet because he knew Dongho would be washing up next and Daehwi wanted to see Dongho as he came out so he could take the way Dongho looked back to bed with him.

 

Daehwi was thinking about Dongho hard and Dongho came out of the shower. His eyes were shining and his hair was damp and tousled. Daehwi looked down at his phone. Dongho came over to the back of his chair and stood there and Daehwi could feel him breathing and then Dongho put his arms around Daehwi. His collarbones felt slim and fragile and his chest fluttered like a bird’s. Daehwi was scared, no one had ever touched him like this, but he thought, here he is. Dongho’s finally here. He’s really here.

 

Daehwi held himself stiff because he was so scared and didn’t know what else to do and then Dongho held him tight against the chair and kissed him. It was such a sharp, aching, hurting feeling that he thought he couldn’t stand it. He felt Dongho right through the back of the chair and he couldn’t stand it and then something clicked inside of him and the feeling was soft and hot and hazy. Dongho held Daehwi tight against the chair and Daehwi wanted it now.

 

Dongho whispered, “Let’s go for a walk.”

 

Daehwi was wearing a thick cardigan so he didn’t get his jacket from the room which would have interrupted the moment. They went out the door. Dongho had his arm around Daehwi and every little way they stopped and pressed against each other and Dongho kissed him. There was no moon and they walked past the fountain and past where the street lights could shine down to the track and football field where the sprinkler-soaked grass bounced under their feet, making their socks wet. They sat down on the bleachers and it was cold but Daehwi was hot all over from being with Dongho. They sat down at the farthest bleacher where the was an overhanging awning and Dongho pulled Daehwi close to him. Daehwi was scared. One of Dongho’s hands went up his shirt and stroked over his chest and the other hand was in his lap. Daehwi was very scared and didn’t know how this kind of thing worked but he still huddled closer to Dongho. Then the hand that felt so big in his lap went away and it was on his leg and started to move up it.

 

“Dongho,” Daehwi’s voice caught, and Dongho slid the hand further up.

 

“We shouldn’t, Dongho, we shouldn’t.” Neither Dongho nor Dongho’s hand paid any attention to him.

 

The bleachers were hard. Dongho had his hand back on Daehwi’s lap and was trying to do something to him. Daehwi was scared but he wanted it too. He had to have it but it scared him.

 

“Dongho, Dongho, we shouldn’t be.”

 

“We have to. This is what you want. The way you’ve been looking at me. It’s been driving me crazy.”

 

“I couldn’t help it,” Daehwi said, “I can’t help it. Oh. We shouldn’t. Oh. Dongho. Dongho. Oh.”

 

The metal planks of the bleachers were hard and cold and Dongho was heavy and they were both sticky. Daehwi pushed him off, he was so uncomfortable and cramped. Dongho was asleep. He wouldn’t move. Daehwi worked out from under Dongho and sat up and straightened himself up and pulled his cardigan down to cover the wet spot. Dongho was sleeping a little with his mouth open. Daehwi leaned over and kissed him on the lips. He was still asleep. Daehwi lifted his head a little and shook it. He rolled over and swallowed. Daehwi started to cry. He walked back down the bleachers and looked past the football field. He felt cold and miserable and everything felt gone.

 

He walked back up the bleachers where Dongho was lying and shook him once more to make sure. He was crying.

 

“Dongho,” he said. “Dongho, please.”

 

Dongho stirred and curled a little tighter. Daehwi took off his cardigan and covered him with it. He tucked it around him neatly and carefully. Then he walked back down the bleachers and back up the track to the Studio. A cold mist was coming from down the mountains.

 

 

* * *

 

_fin_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn’t the end. It could be read anywhere, to be honest. It could even be a one-shot. But I decided to include it here in A/B tests because it brought the story full circle. See, it had been floating in my mind for a long time. What happened? What happened between them that set this all off? 
> 
> It made me both happy and sad to write this. Happy because there was still some story left to write, but sad because I knew that this was the real ending (even if it doesn’t follow the traditional structure of a chronological ending). The image of Daehwi in a bright blue sweater, knees pulled up to his chin, pretending to be on his phone, came to me one night while I was reading. I realized he was sad, he was avoiding something, and as I built the scene in my mind’s eye I saw Dongho there too, and then everything came spilling out one scene after the other. 
> 
> I stayed up late that night writing this. I was a little bit late for work the next morning because I had stayed up so late. There’s something lovely about finding the story and being able to express it. If it means being late for work every now and then, that’s a price I’ll gladly pay. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this far. <3 If you’re curious about how the other boys managed during the filming of Produce 101, there’s more in this universe. Follow Ong Seongwoo and Kang Daniel down the rabbit hole as they test out their own [Scientific Methods](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12723912/chapters/29298495), or see why Kim Jonghyun and Yoo Seonho are both spinning themselves in silly circles for Hwang Minhyun in [Double Blind](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13133415/chapters/30042567).


End file.
